With a Touch of Madness
by Hilaire
Summary: UPDATED. LESSON ELEVEN FINALLY UP. It was a very simple rule: "Keep your hands off your student." Jeremiah Gottwald couldn't have imagined that it would be this difficult to follow it. JeremiahAnya. Takes place before R2. Partly AU. Student/teacher.
1. The Unfeeling Knight

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Code Geass.**  
>Claimer: <strong>This story is mine.**  
>Inspired by:<strong> Monster by Dev.

This story takes place before the beginning of R2, with several alterations, hence the AU part. Deviations from canon will be explained along the way. Otherwise, I'll do my best to keep everything consistent. :)

* * *

><p><span><strong>With a Touch of Madness<strong>

It was a very simple rule: "Keep your hands off your student."  
>Jeremiah Gottwald couldn't have imagined that it would be this difficult to follow it.<p>

* * *

><p><strong>Lesson I<strong>

**The Unfeeling Knight**

"Miss Alstreim."

The fifteen-year-old Anya Alstreim looked up from her blog to the class president, remaining indifferent under the other girl's irritated expression. Without a word, the Knight of Six waited for the president to continue, which only seemed to upset the latter more.

"Mr. Gottwald wishes to speak with you," the president said, frustrated by her apparent lack of interest. "He says it's urgent."

Anya only stared at her for a moment or two, until finally she turned back to her blog, looking very casual about it. "Tell him I'm busy," she briefly said. "He can wait."

The president frowned. "He's been asking for you for the last seven days, Miss Alstreim," she said sharply. "Please do me a favor and attend Britannian History, or just see him in his office _pronto_. Frankly, I have better things to do than act as a messenger to the both of you."

The seventeen-year-old Gino Weinberg gave a little shake of his head as he watched the class president stomp off. "She hates you," he said, unsurprised to find that Anya wasn't even paying attention. He lay down on the grass, crossing his arms under his head as he stared up at their favorite tree. "Then again, you don't care."

"No."

Gino laughed at her candor. "I don't know if you know, but Jeremiah has been asking for you since he came back from his sudden vacation."

Anya didn't even look up from what she was doing. "Oh," she deadpanned. At least she was making an effort to sound like she was interested.

He nodded. "Uh-huh. They say he's pretty concerned by your frequent absence and what that can do to your academic standing." He snickered, remembering the impressive earnestness that emanated from Jeremiah Gottwald during lectures. "But that's underestimating the youngest of the Knights of the Round, isn't it?"

"…"

Gino rolled over to his side, turning away from Anya to look over the beautiful Ashford landscape. He was pretty used to talking to himself. "Who would have thought that Jeremiah would end up being a teacher, huh?"

It had been more than a year ever since Jeremiah Gottwald left the Britannian Army after his public humiliation by the masked terrorist Zero. The fallen Margrave had been declared dead during the Battle of Narita, only to surprise everyone when he showed up in Ashford Academy several months later, where he assumed the position of a Britannian History teacher.

Gino highly doubted that the ex-Margrave would settle for anything less than the battlefield; Jeremiah was a first-class Knightmare pilot by his own right. With or without his title, and even after the disgrace that Zero had brought upon him, his name still rang fear in the hearts of those who knew him. But politics was a dangerous game, and Gino wasn't sure what to make of Jeremiah's evident passion for teaching Britannian History.

"Come to think of it, why don't you just go and talk to him so he'll leave you alone already?" he asked.

"I don't want to."

Gino blinked. "Huh?"

Anya's gaze didn't leave the screen of her blog. "I've spoken to him before," she said, a semblance of a smirk gracing her lips. "I don't intend to endure that again."

The young man laughed at this. "I can totally imagine," he said, still smiling as he asked: "So did you ask him about his fancy mask?"

Anya was typing into her blog as she responded. "He said he nearly died in the Battle of Narita," she simply said. "It destroyed his sight, so he needs the eyepiece in the mask to see better."

Gino rolled over to his other side so that he was facing her, staring at her with a mixture of incredulity and awe. "You seriously asked him about it?"

"Uh-huh."

"And he _answered_?" he continued, still in disbelief. That Jeremiah survived the Battle of Narita was enough to make Gino marvel at the man's competence and strength, but that he actually shared a very interesting piece of information with Anya was even more fascinating. "I thought he didn't talk to people or something." Jeremiah certainly looked like a snob, mask or no mask.

The young man received no answer for this observation, and he sighed. "Still, that eyepiece or mask thing that he has there makes him look almost – "

"Cybernetic," Anya offered, her tone making it sound like talking to her friend was a big waste of precious time.

Gino snapped his fingers. "That's the word," he agreed. "Cybernetic."

Anya leaned back against the tree trunk, still refusing to look up from what she was typing. "He doesn't mind."

Gino raised an eyebrow. "He also told you about that bit?"

Anya threw him a fleeting glance. "And what if he did?"

Gino gave a good-natured laugh, watching his friend turn back to her blog without another word. "Well for someone who doesn't want to talk to him, you sure know a lot about him."

There was a brief silence between the two of them, until Anya decided to break it. "He has a temper," she said, as if that explained everything.

And it did. "Ohhh." Gino himself had heard of Jeremiah's dangerous temperament many times before. The no-nonsense teacher of Britannian History was infamous for his vicious lack of restraint over his emotions. Although the Knight of Three had yet to see Jeremiah's angry outburst for himself, all accounts seemed to agree that it was always very ugly. Rumors that Jeremiah Gottwald was both 'emotionally and mentally unstable' ran rampant, and something told Gino that there was a ring of truth to them. "I see."

Gino grinned, marveling at how a furious Jeremiah would talk to a very indifferent Anya. His friend's composure could make her quite exasperating to those who didn't know her well, but Gino was certain that she would never tolerate anyone screaming at her – not even Jeremiah Gottwald himself.

_That's never gonna happen, _ he thought. He kept his eyes at Anya until something occurred to him, and a thoughtful expression overtook his features. "Hey, Anya," he started, furrowing his eyebrows. "You probably don't care, but have you heard what our classmates are saying about Jeremiah…?"

"No."

Gino sighed, feeling compelled to elaborate. Anya was still one of his best friends in the world, and he cared about her more than anyone else in the world. "Well," he began, unsure how to put it without being awkward. "Some of our classmates seem to think that Jeremiah is interested in you."

The young woman cocked her head in his direction. "I don't understand what you're trying to say, Gino," she told him, looking unimpressed by his tentative tone.

Gino gave an uncharacteristic frown as he thought. "They're saying something like – " he hesitated, turning away as his frown deepened " – they're saying he likes you."

Anya's only response was a perfunctory blink, and Gino grimaced. Right. He would have to spell it all out, wouldn't he? "They think he likes you _romantically_. They say he's never given as much concern for a student before you." He paused. "Although that's disputable, considering he's only been here for a few months before we transferred…"

He looked over to his friend to see her reaction, flashing an uncertain smile at her dead expression. Sometimes he wondered what she was thinking. With Anya, emotions and thoughts were always so difficult to tell. "I don't believe any of it, really."

She stared intently at him, waiting for him to continue.

Gino smiled at her. "If you ask me, I think Jeremiah is very serious about teaching, and he just wants to do it really well." Jeremiah had always had a reputation for taking his business very seriously, whether it was taking over a border or in this case, teaching Britannian History. The man refused to be nothing but the best in whatever he did. "And that includes looking after his students."

In a swift movement, the young man pulled himself up into a careless sprawl beside his friend. "To tell you the truth, I'm rather disturbed by the idea. I mean, that they think he can be interested in you." He frowned. "It's pretty – " he tried to find a kinder word, but failed miserably " – it's pretty sick, isn't it? After all, he's your teacher, and you're only fifteen…"

Anya's lazy crimsons held his cheerful blues for a moment longer than necessary, before at last she raised her camera and snapped a picture of him.

"It is, Gino," she agreed, staring blankly at him. "It's pretty sick."

**x - x - x**

"I apologize, Mr. Gottwald, but Miss Alstreim says she's busy."

The Britannian History teacher gave the president a curt smile, noting her apprehension under his gaze. "I understand. I'll speak to her once she's free, then. Thank you." He watched as the young woman gave a courteous, tense bow before turning on her heel to take her leave.

Jeremiah Gottwald's smile disappeared as soon as he was alone, and he clenched his fists.

**…to be continued…**

* * *

><p>Ah, yes, Britannian History. I think it sounds believable, and something you don't have to force Jeremiah to teach. ;)<p>

This is my very first Code Geass fic, and I'm glad it's about Jeremiah and Anya. I'm a huge fan of the pairing, and this is my little tribute to them. The next chapter will be all about Jeremiah, which I'm pretty excited for. That man is adorable.

Constructive criticisms are always appreciated. Raise your questions if you have any, so I can include them in the next chapter. :)

**Hilaire****  
>09.28.11<strong>


	2. The Fallen Margrave

Late update, because this chapter simply refused to be written, and it took me ages to re-watch several important episodes to make sure I got everything right. Regardless, enjoy reading. :)

* * *

><p><em>"He's a monster, he's a monster,<br>__That boy – he's a motherfucking monster."_  
>Monster by Dev<p>

* * *

><p><strong>Lesson II<strong>

**The Fallen Margrave**

The class president was in the middle of an announcement when Anya arrived in class. The Knight of Six took her place at the far back of the room, not missing the grave expression of her classmates – including the usually cheerful Gino himself.

Something was up.

"Following the advice of his doctors, Mr. Sigmund Gramercy has decided to rest for the time being. According to our last updates he's feeling much better now, but he'll be taking the next several days off," the president said.

Anya threw an almost curious glance at her seatmate, who was surprisingly early that morning. Gino Weinberg had a thoughtful frown on his face, listening intently for probably the first time in his life. Upon the realization, the young woman held up her camera and snapped a picture, effectively distracting him.

"Anya," he muttered, giving a slight frown.

"What happened?" she asked, mostly for the sake of asking. She stared at the picture of her friend, wondering at how his features were altered by the uncharacteristic expression that graced his face –

"Jeremiah did something stupid," Gino whispered, and Anya found herself looking up in almost curiosity. The ex-margrave had always been infamous for his temper, but that he would still bring it to Ashford Academy…

"Mr. Gramercy says his thanks for the flowers that we sent him," the president continued, earning nods of approval from the rest of the class. ""I'll inform everyone when he'll be coming back, but for now, Calculus class is free period for Class A."

A heavy silence ruled over the class, until one of their classmates raised a hand in query. "What about Mr. Gottwald?"

The president nodded, seeming to tense up at the question. "Mr. Jeremiah Gottwald has been called to the Headmaster's office, to give details about what happened. The Headmaster himself informed me that there will be no Britannian History class for today."

"Aren't they going to suspend him?" one girl asked, the mixture of apprehension and anxiety evident in her tone. Several members of the class quietly nodded, as if in agreement.

The president shook her head, and offered an uncertain smile. "We have yet to see how their meeting turns out."

Anya furrowed her eyebrows, unsure what was happening. She turned to Gino. "What did Jeremiah do?"

Gino shrugged, watching as the most of the class started to leave the room. Calculus and Britannian History were their first two subjects for the day, and it was obvious that their classmates preferred going back to their dormitories to wasting time hanging out in the classroom till the third period. "He broke Mr. Gramercy's jaw."

Anya lowered her camera to her lap, but her face remained blank. "Huh," she murmured, unimpressed. This was easily one of the stupidest things she had ever heard. "Why?"

Gino gave another shrug. "Something about Mr. Gramercy making a mention of the Orange fiasco, and the rumors of Jeremiah being a traitor to the Britannian Empire." He smirked. "You can imagine how much that must have ticked him off."

Anya gave a slow nod, agreeing despite herself.

Jeremiah was one of the most prominent figures of the Britannian Army who was fiercely loyal to the Empire, or at least before the Orange fiasco casted a doubt upon this. He was a part of the Purist Faction, or the Purebloods, a Britannian political and military group who openly opposed the honorary citizenship system. The Purebloods fought aggressively to ensure that Elevens remembered that they were just that – Elevens.

Jeremiah didn't trust them, and he didn't want anyone whom he didn't trust to be able to gain access to the Britannian Army that he had served all his life.

Anya stared at Gino's picture with unseeing eyes. It was easy to imagine how furious Jeremiah must have been when the other teacher brought that up. To the ex-margave, the Orange fiasco was much like an irrevocable curse – something that he could never forget, or elude; a single night that destroyed the rest of his lifetime.

"Do you believe it?" Gino asked, disrupting her silent musings.

"Believe what?"

"That Jeremiah was conspiring with the terrorists?"

Anya looked down to her camera, turning it off with a shrug. "No."

Gino was visibly surprised, as he should be. They were the Knights of the Round, after all, and under the direct command of the Emperor himself. "Don't tell me Jeremiah also told you _that_," he remarked, the teasing all too evident in his voice.

The young lady only raised her bored gaze to the tall windows next to her seat. "That's right," she said, at which Gino seemed to choke.

"W-What?"

Anya watched as the morning breeze stirred the cherry blossoms outside, the petals falling to the ground like snowflakes in winter. "He told me so."

۞۞۞

Ruben Ashford turned away from the windows of his office when he heard the double doors open, the corners of his lips curling up in semblance of a smile. "Mr. Jeremiah Gottwald," he greeted, and gestured to the couch. "Please, take a seat."

The twenty-nine-year-old Britannian History teacher gave a curt nod in response, and settled himself on the couch, keeping his posture as perfect as it had always been. He squared his shoulders, his expression dark and solemn, and tilted his chin in defiance.

He regretted nothing.

Ashford took his place opposite the younger man. "Can I offer you anything?"

"Thank you, but that won't be necessary," Jeremiah declined, reminding himself that he did not come here for idle chitchat. He had known the repercussions of his rashness even before he decided to pounce on that idiot for insulting him, although the prospective did nothing to restrain his anger anyway. "I understand I'm in trouble for what I've done."

The headmaster of the school nodded. "I know all about your background as a knight, Mr. Gottwald," he started, the calm in his voice almost enviable. "But this is no longer the battlefield that you've grown up in."

Jeremiah felt himself stiffen at the words, once again reminded of his forced retirement from serving the empire that he valued more than his life itself. He clenched his fists, conscious of the anger that was slowly building up in his chest. The fact that it was an Ashford seated from across him was the only thing that kept him from completely flaring up.

It had been a while since he last saw the man, but Ruben Ashford was still one of the most devoted supporters of Empress Marianne. That he had gracefully accepted the death of the Empress and stubbornly refused to turn his back on her even after her death was something that Jeremiah thought deserved respect.

He clasped his hands together contemplatively. "I have no intention of apologizing for what I did," he said. Hah. That idiot deserved it, and Jeremiah would be damned if he said otherwise.

The older man nodded, seeming to have expected this. "And I have no intention of asking you to," he said, much to Jeremiah's surprise. "The loyalty of the Ashfords have been questioned many times over, before and after the death of Empress Marianne – " he bowed his head at the mention of the dead, as if in a quick prayer, before continuing " – I understand how you feel."

Jeremiah was quiet in his seat, realizing that the old Ashford never once forgot who he was either, even after so many years. Jeremiah Gottwald was a knight of Empress Marianne first, a Margrave of Area 11 second, and a teacher of Britannian History third; and Ruben Ashford knew this by heart. For those several silent moments, Jeremiah had the feeling that they were back to eight years ago, when he was simply the knight of Empress Marianne, and the Ashfords were still the most powerful family in all of Britannia.

"Still," the old man said, snapping Jeremiah back to the present. He fixed the younger man with a stern a gaze, and the teacher had a sense that Ashford was reminding him of his role as the headmaster of the Academy.

"You're a teacher now, Mr. Gottwald," Ashford said. "As a person who is tasked to educate the younger generation and serve to be one whom they can emulate, you need to show more restraint, in both your conduct and temper." He paused. "I'm suspending you for the next two weeks."

Jeremiah took a deep breath. Two weeks. It wasn't as bad as what he had imagined it would be, although he still didn't like it. "All right," he relented, his voice sounding much calmer than he actually felt. "Two weeks."

Ashford stared carefully at him. "I hope what happened yesterday will not happen again, Mr. Gottwald."

To this, Jeremiah only nodded, refusing to make a promise he wasn't sure he could keep. "I apologize for troubling you, Mr. Ashford," he said instead.

Ashford smiled, the weariness evident in his eyes. The old man was more tired than he let on. "Then that will be all, Mr. Gottwald."

۞۞۞

"A two-week suspension?"

Jeremiah nodded, feeling torn between being distressed and being amused. "I apologize. I didn't realize that my strength could break that idiot so easily." He looked at his hands, marveling at how easily he had fractured Gramercy's jaw with an effortless punch.

It had been over a year since the Orange fiasco, the incident which had cost him not only his title and position as the Margrave of Area 11, but also the respect of his peers and fellow Britannians. It had been a while, and while most had been stunned when he emerged alive after the fateful Battle of Narita more than a year ago, none seemed to have forgotten about his 'betrayal' of the Empire.

Jeremiah sipped his wine, remembering the mockery and contempt that had followed the scandal. People actually believed it – that he could conspire with those terrorists and hand over his Empire to the enemy without remorse. It was as if no one knew who he was, and just how devoted he was to Britannia and its Army.

Seated on the stairway of the temple from across Jeremiah, the mysterious V.V. only shook his head, his quiet, enigmatic smile unwavering despite the ex-Margrave's report. "That's all right. You're still just learning about you strength." His violet eyes flashed with dark amusement. "A broken jaw can hardly be called a casualty, if at all," he added. "What's important is that you're still in Ashford Academy."

Jeremiah smirked, knowing that V.V. was right.

Almost a year ago, a moment of uncontrollable fury, Jeremiah had disregarded his orders and broke out from the research facility where Prince Schneizel's team of scientists was experimenting on him. The mere mention of Zero had invoked a violent anger in the fallen knight, and before he could control himself, he had stolen the Knight Giga Fortress Siegfried with the full intention of killing Zero with his own hands.

Underestimating the terrorists and their loyalty to Zero, however, proved to be a fatal mistake. The pilot of Gawain, whom he now knew to be C.C., had ensured that she would drag him and the Siegfried into the ocean with her. It was a duel to the death, and he had barely escaped before losing consciousness.

It was four weeks later when he woke up to V.V., only to find out that he was still just healing from the massive injuries that he sustained from the battlefield. The mysterious boy was the one who found him ashore, and who bought him to the headquarters of the Geass Directorate, where he was treated.

It hadn't been done out of kindness; V.V. himself had told Jeremiah so. It was more of the mixture of dark amusement and wonder that prompted the boy to keep him from dying. _"You simply refused to die," _V.V. had told him. _"I didn't think a human being could possess such strong will to live."_

Jeremiah had smirked at the remark, somehow knowing that he would defy death itself for as long as he hadn't exacted his revenge on the masked terrorist that had taken everything away from him.

Dying was simply _not _ an option for Jeremiah Gottwald.

In the months that followed the knight's recovery, V.V. told him all about Lelouch Lamperouge – the young man who donned on the heavy mask of Zero. The seventeen-year-old Lelouch was Zero, the masked icon who didn't only lead the Black Knights to conquer so many Britannian soldiers, but also gathered unparalleled respect and support from the other Britannian colonies in an impressively short span of time.

Jeremiah had been stunned to know that the leader of the terrorists was, while clearly cunning beyond his age, still no more than a teenager. Yet what had been the most unsettling for him was how a fellow Britannian could turn his back on his country so easily.

An Eleven leading a revolt – that would have been much easier to understand. But a Britannian? It hardly made sense, if at all. Had Lelouch Lamperouge been done wrong by the Empire?

It was for this reason, among many others, that Jeremiah decided to be part of V.V.'s Geass Directorate. While the golden-haired boy refused to tell much about himself, he generously explicated the geass and how it worked to Jeremiah. Despite having the unassuming appearance of a child, V.V. was much older than he looked, and Jeremiah had no doubts that the boy knew far more than would ever tell.

It was six months after Jeremiah woke up that V.V. gave him an offer which he couldn't possibly refuse:

"_Would you like to get back everything you've lost, Sir Jeremiah Gottwald, and put an end to Zero once and for all?"_

Jeremiah didn't even have to think about the answer; it simply slipped out almost instinctively. It was as though he had been waiting for the question all along.

"_Yes," he said, his voice as earnest as he had answered when asked if he would join the Britannian Army. _

_V.V. gave a clever smile, although his eyes remained cold and bored. "Very well, then. Go to Ashford Academy and take on the role of a Britannian History teacher."_

Jeremiah shook his head at the memory of the conversation four months ago. While he hadn't been most enthusiastic to be dealing with teenagers, he found himself enjoying teaching Britannian History more than he could have imagined. There was something strangely exhilarating about it, to be personally telling the story of how the Empire had started down to the battles that he himself had fought in.

The knight picked up his glass of wine from the table once more, letting a small smirk grace his lips. "So," he started, deciding he'd had enough of reminiscing.

"How is the geass canceller coming along?"

**…to be continued…**

* * *

><p>Writing this chapter made me realize that making Jeremiah a teacher while keeping the rest of the story consistent with canon raises many questions. I'll answer them as we go along, and also look into the implications of the little alterations to canon.<p>

Of course, the JeremiahAnya romance remains the focal point of this story. I really wish people would write more about them. I'm _so _ excited for them to see each other and actually _talk_, but I couldn't include that in this chapter yet. But we're getting there, I promise!

I suck at updating, but please review. This is my first Code Geass fic, and I'm just getting the hang of writing the characters. I want to know what you think of the chapter, and how I'm doing so far. :)

**Hilaire****  
>11.23.11<strong>


	3. A Dangerous Enigma

Happy New Year. :)

* * *

><p><em>"Most people are scared –<em>_  
>when they look him in the eyes all they see is fear."<em>  
>Monster by Dev<p>

* * *

><p><strong>Lesson<strong> **III**

**A Dangerous Enigma**

_Four months ago._

Jeremiah couldn't keep the puzzled frown that graced his features, unsure if he heard right.

"A _teacher_?" he asked, with a hint of distaste in his tone.

The golden-haired child glanced up from where he was seated, his sharp, soulless violet eyes boring into Jeremiah's. "Yes. A professor of Britannian History." A ghost of a smile formed on his lips. "I think it suits you well, Sir Jeremiah."

The twenty-nine-year old knight smirked, half-amused and half-incredulous as he leaned back against his seat. He had expected a post in the front line; _not_ a high school. Heaven forbid that he would have to deal with teenagers. "It would please me greatly to tell students of the glory of Britannia," he conceded, after a thoughtful pause, "but I don't think the classroom setting is for me, V.V. I am a knight, first and foremost, and my life has always been in the battlefield."

V.V. shrugged, holding up his cheeks in both hands in a bored fashion. "A traitor is all you are at the moment, Sir Jeremiah Gottwald," he simply said. "And I should remind you: The battlefield you seek is currently in Ashford Academy, where Lelouch dwells."

Jeremiah inhaled, the mention of Zero making him suddenly restless. "Of course," he said sharply. "The seventeen-year-old Lelouch Lamperouge, the young man behind the masked terrorist Zero." He knew better than anyone else that unlike what the media had made both Britannians and Elevens believe, Zero was very much alive. The young man was staying in Ashford Academy as the student he'd always been, and leading a peaceful life with his friends.

V.V. nodded. "At the moment, Lelouch is suffering from a kind of memory loss, but a little worse: His geass has been sealed, and his memories have been altered to suit the truth that we wish for him to live." He paused. "As we speak, he is in Ashford Academy, and he has no memories of Zero, or the Black Knights, or the geass."

A smirk tugged the corner of V.V.'s lips, seeming to notice Jeremiah stiffen at the mention of the curious word. "Ah, but of course, Sir Jeremiah. Lelouch isn't the only one who is in possession of the geass. It comes in many forms, depending on the fondest wish of the person who enters the contract."

Jeremiah was quiet as he considered V.V.'s words. "Like a geass that alters the memories of a person," he murmured, an incident from only one four weeks ago crossing his mind as V.V. gave him a nod. A frown tugged at his lips when he realized the many questions that soon followed the memory, and he pushed it to the back of his mind, if only for the time being.

There was simply no way he could afford to be distracted.

"But what can Lelouch do, without his memories?" he asked instead, clenching his fist under the table.

"I don't suppose he can do much," V.V. said. "Still, you must realize that the execution of the Black Knights is going to be soon. I have no doubts that those who haven't been captured are still alive, and they will not stand doing nothing as their comrades are executed." He smirked. "Humans call it friendship, if I remember correct."

Jeremiah gave a nod in understanding. V.V.'s argument was very likely, as even the ex-Margrave could somehow sympathize with what the Black Knights must be feeling toward their comrades. "What do you want me to do?"

V.V. fixed him with an intent stare. "I want you to keep an eye on Lelouch," he said. "The remaining Black Knights are desperate to get Zero back – a feat they cannot accomplish without his memory, and his geass. To unseal both requires the ability of someone almost as precious as the geass."

"The contractor," Jeremiah finished, to which V.V. nodded.

"C.C. hasn't emerged since the incident in Kamine Island, and I suspect that she has been working with the Black Knights to get Lelouch back," V.V. said. "She's the only one who can unseal both his memories and the geass, as his contractor. If my estimation is correct, she will try to make contact with him in about six months, just before the execution of the terrorists."

"The Geass Directorate has already sent an assassin to capture C.C. once she makes an appearance," V.V. said, giving a slight lift of his chin as he looked at Jeremiah. "All that's left is to deal with Lelouch, and ensure that he will no longer be an unnecessary obstruction to what the Directorate is trying to accomplish."

"That's why you've been preparing things for me," Jeremiah muttered, instinctively flexing his fingers as he remembered the many treatment and experiments he had gone through ever since he woke up. The last few months had been agonizing for him, and while he couldn't say that he was entirely _happy_ with how he had been altered, he understood that all of it was necessary to destroy Zero.

"That's right," V.V. nodded. "At present, we're almost halfway through the development of the geass canceller, as a precaution against the power of Lelouch's geass itself."

A flicker of dark amusement seemed to cross V.V.'s eyes and linger there. "The geass canceller will be yours in six months, Sir Jeremiah."

۞۞۞

Anya sipped her chocolate drink through the straw, barely looking up from her food as she quietly listened to the Ashford Academy Student Council president. The nineteen-year-old Milly Ashford stood at the head of the table, her lunch sitting abandoned before her.

" – and so I asked my grandfather if he talked to Mr. Gottwald yesterday," Milly said, apparently too engrossed in her narration to eat. Seated on either side of her were the members of the Student Council, including Gino and Anya herself, who hadn't been as excited as her best friend had been when Milly invited them over for lunch.

Anya kept her eyes on her food, remembering her first day in Ashford Academy. It hadn't been _terrible _ in the truest sense of the word_, _although she found Milly Ashford to be a tad too friendly for her taste. The Council president had been ridiculously pleased to know that they were friends of Suzaku, as his fellow Knights of the Rounds. Milly had insisted on giving them a grand welcome to the school, to which the Knight of Six only responded with a blank look.

Anya was, at best, indifferent to everyone else. Ashford Academy was an exclusive school for the wealthy, but she still found herself hardly fitting in with everyone else. Unlike her friend Suzaku, who had attended the school before he was promoted to be one of the Knights of Rounds; or Gino, who possessed an effortless charm that won over more than half the school barely two months since their transfer, Anya remained to be an aloof stranger to many.

For her, attending an ordinary high school was nothing but a bother. Except for a few, most of the students in the school had already categorized the Knights of the Rounds to be completely different from the rest of them – a fact that she was more than thankful for. She barely even flinched when Gino told her that some of their classmates regarded her as an _'aristocratic snob'_.

"_I'm glad to hear that,_" she had deadpanned. She was here on an assignment from the Emperor Charles zi Britannia himself, and the last thing she could possibly want was to make friends. She wouldn't even see these people again, as soon as the assignment was finished.

_I'll just forget about them, anyway, _ she mused, suppressing her cynical smirk at the thought. She glanced at her camera beside her drink, marveling at how it must feel to actually _remember._

"So what did your grandfather say?" a dark-haired young man asked, looking quite bored of the discussion himself. Anya knew him to be Lelouch Lamperouge, the very subject of the mission that she and Gino were in the Academy for.

The scrawny young man who Anya Alstreim could outrun in a marathon a hundred times over was Zero.

Anya looked carefully at him, still wondering how Lelouch could be the masked terrorist. Zero's name rang fear in the hearts of even the highest-ranking Britannian officers, and it was almost ridiculous to find out that the man behind it could be no more than an eighteen-year-old teenager who couldn't run two laps without collapsing in exhaustion.

Milly heaved a dramatic sigh, making everyone turn to her. "Grandfather told me that Mr. Gottwald would be suspended for the next two weeks for what he did," she said. "The school's board of directors is receiving hell from the parents because of it."

A look of puzzlement crossed everyone's faces. "Why is that?" Gino asked, speaking in behalf of the group.

A thoughtful pout formed Milly's lips. "Mr. Gottwald is a good teacher, and he knows Britannian History by heart. The problem is that the students are complaining about his temperament," she told them. "The students have always been scared of him, although my grandfather and the board only dismissed that before. They all thought it was only because of his rumored betrayal of the empire, and that everyone would forget about it soon enough. Mr. Gottwald's impressive enthusiasm and knowledge about the course made the board of directors hire him as a teacher in Ashford Academy."

Milly glanced over to Gino and Anya. "The students, most particularly in your class, are afraid of what he might do if he loses his temper, especially after what he'd done to Mr. Gramercy," she said. "Some of them, including your president, have even suggested that it would be much better to just fire Mr. Gottwald."

Anya paused at the words, and she lifted her gaze to look at Milly, only to see Gino glancing at her with a hint of teasing and uncertainty in his smile. She stared blankly at him, wondering how her friend could be such an idiot, before she turned back to her food.

"You think they'd fire him?" Gino asked, in a tone which made it sound like he did it for her sake.

Milly shrugged. "My grandfather said the board will only consider it if someone writes them a formal letter of complaint against Mr. Gottwald, or if he does something unacceptable to the board again. For now, he's simply suspended for the next two weeks," she said. "Today will be your last meeting with Mr. Gottwald for Britannian History."

Anya felt her best friend pause, and she looked up to see the expression of surprise on his face. "What?" he demanded. "There's Britannian History today?"

Milly seemed puzzled. "Uh-huh. Mr. Gottwald will hold a class today, since he needs to finish the lessons for the midterms next week." She gave them an uncertain smile. "It was posted in the bulletin. Didn't your president tell you?"

Gino swiftly jumped to his feet, apparently realizing the time. "She must have, but I never listen," he admitted sheepishly. Without a pause, he turned to Anya, an easy grin falling on his lips. "Coming?"

۞۞۞

Jeremiah wasn't oblivious to the sudden silence that fell upon the classroom as soon as he stepped in two days later, noting how the students stiffened when they saw him. He'd always felt how anxious and tense they were in his presence. Not that he could blame them, considering how cold and intimidating he could be if he chose to, and the fact that he was a member of the Britannian Army before teaching in Ashford Academy.

He made his way to the teacher's desk in front, letting a small smirk grace his lips as he placed his materials on top of the table. "Good afternoon, everyone," he said, his voice stern and solemn.

The students rose to their feet, a mixture of confusion and surprise evident in their eyes. "Good afternoon, Mr. Gottwald," they greeted, sounding quite hesitant. They took their seats as soon as he nodded for them to, exchanging puzzled glances among themselves.

He glanced around the room in a pretext of appraising the class attendance, almost giving a sigh when he didn't find whom he was looking for. With an inward frown, he stared over to the rest of the students. "I've spoken with Mr. Ruben Ashford regarding what happened two days ago," he started, removing his gloves as he spoke, "and it saddens me to inform you that I'm suspended for the next two weeks because of it."

There was a loud murmur among the students, but Jeremiah was quick to silence it with a wave of his hand. "I've been instructed to finish today's lessons for your midterms. After the exams, a substitute teacher will take my place as your teacher in Britannian History."

The class president raised a hand, and he beckoned for her to stand up and speak. "What about Mr. Gramercy, Mr. Gottwald?" she asked. "Have you apologized to him?"

Jeremiah furrowed his eyebrows, an expression of distaste crossing his features and lingering there when he heard the name of the fool. "No," he said curtly. "I have no intention of apologizing to Mr. Gramercy about what happened." _ That idiot practically asked for it, _he almost added, but stopped himself just in time.

The president gave a slight frown, seeming unconvinced. "But shouldn't you do it, as a teacher?" She tilted her head. "Surely you should apologize for having done something so violent – "

"Miss Cavendish," he interrupted, the sharpness of his tone so distinct that it made the student flinch, "I would like to ask you to refrain from talking about something you have no idea what's about." He narrowed his eyes with warning. "What Mr. Gramercy had said was a grave insult to me and my loyalty to Britannia. Even Mr. Ashford did not ask me to do something so preposterous."

The student furrowed her eyebrows, unwilling to back down. "But isn't it his right, Mr. Gottwald?" she said. "To express his opinion on how you must have worked together with the terrorists?"

An awkward silence fell upon the room once more, and the other students fidgeted in their seats. The only one who seemed calm and composed was Sabrina Cavendish, the class president who had uttered the slight herself.

From across the room, Jeremiah stopped, feeling himself tense up at the blatant insult at his face. "Miss Cavendish," he growled, the drastic buildup of anger in his chest surprising even himself. He glared at the student fiercely, feeling absolutely infuriated by her insolence. "I've been loyal to Britannia all my life," he breathed through clenched teeth.

He gripped the edge of the expensive wooden desk, his hands slightly trembling with uncontrollable fury. Ever since Prince Schneizel and his team of scientists performed various experiments on him, Jeremiah had never been quite the same. He felt certain that not only his body, but his mind had somehow also been tampered with, his command over his emotions altered for the worse.

He swallowed, desperately trying to calm himself down. He had been doing terribly at keeping a hold of his temper, especially when it concerned Zero and that damnable Orange fiasco that served to ruin him. He knew that if he flew into a rage now, he would lose his chance of exacting his revenge on Zero and taking back what was rightfully his. He cursed under his breath, feeling hopelessly manipulated by his own emotions, and –

Jeremiah paused, momentarily distracted when the door to the classroom opened. Still gritting his teeth, he turned his gaze to his far left, only to stop when he realized who was standing by the doorway.

"Anya," he whispered, his anger suddenly forgotten as he beheld the Knight of Six. Almost unwillingly he felt himself relax, his breathing more easy, his posture still perfect but less rigid. He felt his hands drop at his sides, his gaze fixated only on her.

Anya glanced up at him, her crimson eyes remaining bored and uninterested even when they met his own. Without a word, she turned on her heel and walked to her seat at the back of the classroom, Gino Weinberg following closely behind her.

"Sorry for being late," Gino called out, as the two of them settled behind their desks. He was smiling cheerfully, seeming oblivious to how tense the atmosphere was inside the classroom. "We had to run a little errand."

Jeremiah snapped out of his astonishment, his expression hardening once more, and nodded in the direction of the Knights of the Round. "I understand," he muttered, after which he glanced over to the class president. "I will not apologize to Mr. Gramercy, and no one can make me," he told her, his voice much calmer but still grim. "Would there be anything else?"

The young woman quietly shook her head before taking a seat, and Jeremiah turned his attention to the rest of the class. The discussion about the foolish member of the school faculty was wasting his time, and pushing it further would only serve to his disadvantage. "The topics which we'll discuss today will be included in your midterms next week," he told the class, deciding it would be best to proceed with the lectures instead.

He lifted his gaze to where Anya was, an odd feeling of calm seeming to sweep over him. "You missed one week worth of lectures, Miss Alstreim. Please see me in my office after class."

Anya gave him a quiet stare, her pretty face graced by an expression of unsettling boredom, like all the world was just painfully uninteresting. Despite himself, Jeremiah felt strangely uneasy, wondering if he had angered her somehow. He didn't know how it could have happened, but it certainly felt like he did.

At last, after what seemed to be a small eternity, the Knight of Six gave a slow nod. "All right."

Jeremiah let out the breath he hadn't realized he had been holding, and nodded. Without another word, he picked up a piece of chalk and turned to the blackboard. "Let's start today's lecture, then."

**…to be continued…**

* * *

><p>Hold your breath for the next update, because Jeremiah and Anya are finally going to talk to each other. ;)<p>

**Hilaire****  
>01.02.12<strong>


	4. The Unwilling Heart

My favorite chapter, because it's JeremiahAnya all throughout. :D

* * *

><p><em>"He's doing his part –<br>__coz he's winning my heart."_  
>Monster by Dev<p>

* * *

><p><strong>Lesson IV<strong>

**The Unwilling Heart**

Gino crossed his arms behind his head, chuckling as he walked with Anya. "Did you see that?"

Anya glanced over to him, seemingly puzzled by his question. "See what?" she deadpanned, before turning her gaze back to the empty hallway that they were treading. Jeremiah had finished the day's lectures with several minutes to spare, and Gino chose to spend the time to walk the Knight of Six to their teacher's office in the other building.

Gino scratched his head. "How you calmed Jeremiah down," he said, suddenly wondering if Anya was _that _ oblivious. Gino wasn't blind, and he saw how Jeremiah had very clearly loosened up when Anya entered the classroom, like a sudden calm had swept over him. "He was so furious before we arrived, but it took only one look at you to calm him down."

Anya shrugged without comment, and Gino grinned. It wasn't that he approved of those ridiculous gossips about his friend and the ex-Margrave, but it was still very amusing, especially when it involved Jeremiah. The blue-haired man and his dangerous temper was such a direct contrast to Anya and her perfect composure; and it amused Gino to no end that their classmates could be creative enough to imagine that there could be anything between the two.

_Yeah, right._

"I'm even surprised you went to class today," he added, remembering how easily it had been to persuade Anya to go to Britannian History that day.

"I didn't want to be left with the Student Council," Anya replied shortly, to which Gino laughed. The other Knight could be so unfriendly sometimes. It was almost a wonder why he even liked her, and considered her to be his best friend among all of the Knights of the Round.

"Well, here we are," he announced several moments later, as the two of them stopped by a dark mahogany door at the end of the wing. The gold plate on it said 'Jeremiah Gottwald' in a big, imposing font. "Jeremiah's office."

Anya stared up at the plate, her grim expression unchanging. "You can leave now."

He frowned, throwing a glance at her. "Are you sure?" he asked, wondering at the odd tone of his friend. "I can wait for you; that's not a problem."

"I'm sure, Gino," she said, giving him a fleeting look before raising her hand to the door. "I can take care of myself."

Gino watched her knock, turning the knob as Jeremiah's muffled voice called for her to come in. The young man was quiet as Anya nodded to him before disappearing into the room, and he was left staring at the closed door. He kept at it for about an entire minute, until at last he shook his head, turning on his heel to go back to class.

He should have liked to see how the conversation between Anya and Jeremiah would turn out.

۞۞۞

Jeremiah turned away from the windows of his office as soon as he heard the knocks on the door, feeling a sudden unease descend upon him. He took a few steps so that he was standing beside his dark mahogany desk, keeping his expression grim. "Come in," he called out.

The former Margrave was quiet as the fifteen-year-old Anya Alstreim stepped into the room, closing the door behind her. "Mr. Gottwald," she greeted, her expressionless eyes boring into his from across the room.

He felt his eyebrow dip at her greeting. "Take a seat," he told her softly, gesturing to the couch in front of his desk. He watched the young lady step further into the room, until at last she was seated, still unspeaking.

"You were gone for a week," he told her, a hint of reproach in his voice as he walked over to where she was. He took his place beside the couch directly opposite her, crossing his arms over his chest, like an adult reprimanding a child. "Why did you miss class?"

The Knight of Six barely glanced at him, her fingers idly playing with the camera on her lap. "I've been busy," she simply said.

"With what?" Jeremiah intoned sharply, making Anya lift her head to look at him. She was at it for about a full minute before her teacher decided that she wasn't going to make things easy for him. "You've been in Ashford Academy the entire time," he said, uncrossing his arms as he gave her an intent stare. "Have you been avoiding me?"

Anya gave a mechanical blink in response. "I thought you called me here for the lectures I missed," she said, the boredom all too evident in her voice.

Jeremiah narrowed his eyes, starting to feel impatient. "You and I both know that's not the reason I called you here for."

The blank expression on Anya's face gave Jeremiah the impression that she saw this conversation to be a complete waste of her time. "Then what am I here for?" she asked him.

Jeremiah gritted his teeth, clenching his fists at his sides as he felt his heartbeat pick up in exasperation with the young woman. "Anya," he murmured, struggling to keep his voice even. He took a deep breath, trying to pull himself together, and spoke the next words in a strained voice. "Are you angry with me?"

The ex-Margrave watched as Anya's fingers stopped fiddling with her camera, seeming to freeze upon the question. The young woman clenched the device in both hands, and lifted her gaze to him, her dead crimsons meeting his orange ones. "Why should I be angry with you?"

Jeremiah watched as Anya's eyes narrowed ever so slightly, surprising even himself when he realized that he had been right all along. The change in the girl's expression was so subtle he could have missed it, but it was _there, _indicating that his question hit the mark. "You _are _angry with me," he murmured, unable to keep the wonder in his voice. For some reason, he had made the Knight of Six angry enough to keep her from seeing him in the last several days since he got back from his sudden vacation.

Jeremiah hesitated, his irritation replaced by concern. "Why are you upset?" he asked, and would have taken a step closer to Anya if she didn't narrow her eyes at him, all the while keeping a look of boredom on her face.

The Knightmare pilot shifted where he stood, furrowing his eyebrows in a mixture of impatience and uncertainty. "Did I do something?" he started, his mind racing to remember the last two months since Anya had transferred to Ashford Academy and became his student.

Halfway through his stay in Ashford Academy, Jeremiah was told that the Knights of the Round would enroll in the school following the orders of the Emperor himself. V.V.'s explanation had been vague at best, but what was certain was that the Knights of the Round were also in the Academy to keep an eye on Lelouch.

"_A wise decision," V.V. remarked, looking strangely amused by the Emperor's choice. He looked over to Jeremiah from his usual spot on the flight of steps. "The Knights of the Round have no knowledge about you, or the Geass Directorate; and you must keep it that way. Within the parameters of Ashford Academy, you are simply Jeremiah Gottwald, the Britannian History professor."_

Jeremiah had shrugged off the information at the time, mostly in disinterest. He knew about the Knights of the Round, but he was too caught up in exacting his revenge on Zero to care about anything else.

It was for this reason that he was utterly surprised to find Anya Alstreim in his class one morning. The two of them had met roughly three months prior to her transfer, and he felt like an utter fool for not realizing that she was the Knight of Rounds that V.V. was speaking of. The young woman was the Knight of Six, the youngest of all twelve; and one of the two Knights that the Emperor of Britannia had assigned to watch over the amnesiac Lelouch.

Jeremiah frowned, still unsure about what he must have done to upset her. Anya had never been one to show what she felt, but before his sudden departure, he could have sworn that things were going well, and –

He stopped, his eyes widening ever so slightly. "I left," he murmured, the words tumbling out faster than he could have thought they could. He looked at her wordlessly, not missing the slight frown that tugged on her lips. "I left and I didn't tell you."

Anya simply looked at him with cold, bored eyes, neither confirming nor denying what he said.

Jeremiah felt his shoulders fall in a mixture of exhaustion and relief, and he heaved a sigh. "Three weeks ago, the Geass Directorate called me," he told her, and was rewarded by a slight quirk of her eyebrows. "They wanted to show me how far they've progressed with the geass canceller."

The ex-Margrave took his place on the couch opposite Anya's. "The call had been so sudden, and I didn't have the time to tell you about it. I didn't think I'd be gone for two weeks." He intertwined his fingers, keeping his gaze leveled with hers. "I'm sorry."

A heavy silence ruled over the room for several long moments. Jeremiah inhaled, wondering if Anya understood that he had gone away for her sake. The Knight of Six was quiet in her seat, turning her eyes to the windows to her far left. Her blank expression was a perfect mask, obscuring the emotions that he knew she still felt.

He kept his gaze at her, marveling at the young lady for whom he had broken many rules and disobeyed many orders. V.V. explicitly told him to keep the knowledge about the geass all to himself, and while Jeremiah had intended to do exactly as he had been told, Anya's wistful smirk had been more than enough to make him reveal some of the lesser details about the curious ability.

Jeremiah understood how important it was to keep the secret of the geass, especially given its potency: It was one of those rarities in the world that only a very few were given privy to. To make it known to a stranger like Anya had used to be was completely out of the question – or at least before he realized the reason behind the emptiness in her eyes.

"_I have no memories to speak of."_

Jeremiah lowered his gaze to the roses on the table, remembering the longing in Anya's voice when she had told him that. It had been almost indistinct against the contempt in her tone, but it had been enough to tell him just how much she wanted to get her memories back.

Before he could realize it, the truth about the geass had escaped his lips. He didn't know for sure, but something told him that only the geass could be responsible for her missing memories – the same power that destroyed both his career and his life.

Back then, he didn't know why it had been so easy to let go, and for a few stunned moments he could only curse himself for making such a stupid mistake. But a rare spark of life had flickered in Anya's eyes then, and in a heartbeat Jeremiah understood his own reasons for doing what he did:

Anya Alstreim was just like himself, cursed and damned by the geass, and he wanted to give her hope that not all was lost just yet.

"_Ever since the beginning of time, it has always been women who seduce men into evil," _ V.V. had once said, and as Jeremiah glanced at the young lady seated before himself, he wondered if V.V. was speaking of something like this.

"I only wanted to find out if I could already acquire the power of the geass canceller," he told her, squaring his shoulders. "I want to retrieve your memories for you."

Anya turned to glance at him, narrowing her eyes in what seemed to be mild irritation. "Don't be stupid. I'm not asking you to do that for me."

Jeremiah's expression darkened, slightly put off by her coldness. "You don't have to. I want to do it for you."

Anya stared blankly at him, seeming unimpressed. For a long time there was only silence in the room, until finally the Knight of Six scoffed, tearing her gaze away from him once more. Without another word, she rose from her seat, slipping her camera in a random pocket of her skirt as she did. "If that's all, then I'll be going," she said, giving him a curt nod before starting for the door.

Jeremiah was wordless as he watched her take her leave, clenching his trembling fists in silent protest. At last, when he could no longer keep himself, he stood up, his posture taut with uncertainty and earnestness. "Anya," he called out.

The young woman halted her tracks, looking back at him with a frown. "What is it?"

The ex-Margrave looked carefully at her, wondering how the young lady could make him so calm and tense at the same time. "I promise," he told her, his voice coming out stubborn and steady. "I promise I'll retrieve your memories for you."

A look of almost concern seemed to grace Anya's features upon the words, but it was so quickly replaced by blankness that Jeremiah decided he must have been seeing things. "Suit yourself," she told him, sounding even more distant than she usually was.

Without waiting for his response, the Knight of Six resumed her strides and left the room, leaving the former Margrave of Area 11 staring at the closed door to his office.

"Anya…" Jeremiah murmured, sinking into his seat.

۞۞۞

Outside Jeremiah's office, Anya leaned against the closed door, fixing her empty stare at the falling cherry blossom petals outside the windows in the hallway.

"_I promise I'll retrieve your memories for you."_

The Knight of Six scoffed instinctively, remembering how earnest Jeremiah had sounded when he made his promise. It almost seemed as if he truly cared – as if he truly wanted to get back her memories for her sake.

Anya straightened up, the familiar expression of boredom adorning her features as she started for her dormitory. "My memories, huh," she murmured, a grim half-smile tugging the corners of her lips.

_What a fool._

**…to be continued…**

* * *

><p>The original draft of this chapter ends very differently from this one, but I decided I'll put off the scandalicious stuff till later. ;)<p>

_**Q: **__Shouldn't Jeremiah know by now that Lelouch is Marianne's son?__**  
>A: <strong>__No. He doesn't in canon, until he confronts Lelouch about it in the train station during Turn 13 of R2. I'm following canon as faithfully as I can, and since everything I've written so far happens before R2 even begins, Jeremiah is still clueless about Lelouch's identity as Marianne's son and a prince of Britannia._

_**Q:**__ So unlike in canon, Jeremiah and Anya know each other even before Anya enters Ashford Academy?  
><em>_**A:**__ Yes. That particular fact, which I'll elaborate on in the next chapters, is exactly what makes this fic partly AU._

Tell me what you think?

**Hilaire****  
>01.18.12<strong>


	5. A Fateful Encounter

This chapter presents how canon is altered in this fan fiction. :)

* * *

><p><em>"There were no sparks,<br>__just the gasoline fire burning through the dark."_  
>Monster by Dev<p>

* * *

><p><strong>Lesson V<strong>

**A Fateful Encounter**

_Geass Directorate Headquarters, five months ago._

Jeremiah stepped past the glass doors and into the center of the Geass Directorate operations, frowning as he noted the worry and apprehension that characterized the atmosphere in the room. Most of the Directorate's agents were fixated on their computers, the effort to keep themselves calm apparent in their rapid exchange of commands. Hovering above them, the big screens blinked bright blue – the Directorate's code for intruders.

Jeremiah looked around grimly, remembering that V.V. had left only the other day for an examination of the Thought Elevators in other parts of Area 11. The leader of the Directorate wouldn't be back till the end of the week, which meant that the situation would have to be dealt with without him.

_How grossly untimely, _ Jeremiah thought, just as he approached the primary scientist in command of the facility.

Together with the others, the man was hunched over his computer, although he was quick to look up from his work when he realized who had arrived. "Lord Jeremiah."

The ex-Margrave gave a curt nod. "What's the situation?"

The scientist looked down to his computer. "It would seem like an intruder has landed on the desert above this command center." He pushed his glasses up his nose, an expression of confusion dawning on his face. "We don't understand how he could have found this place, when even the most advanced devices would reveal only a vast expanse of sand where we are – certainly nothing of interest."

Jeremiah narrowed his eyes. The desert under which the Geass Directorate was situated was one of the most secluded areas in the world; nearly impossible to find even with the use of the most advanced technologies. V.V. himself had once said that the individuals who could locate the Directorate would only be those that were somehow related to the geass itself.

"How many intruders are there?" he asked, wondering if the head scientist had already ordered the assassination of whoever had stepped into their territory. V.V. would not be pleased if he found out that someone had found their location and gotten away with it.

There was a pause, and then: "Just one."

Jeremiah lifted an eyebrow. "Just one?" he repeated, suddenly wondering why everyone was so worked up if there was only one intruder to deal with. "All the easier to destroy, then."

"It's not that simple," one of them said.

"Why not?" he asked, noting the reservation in their eyes.

The head scientist glanced at his peers before hesitantly raising his gaze to Jeremiah. "The intruder is a Knightmare from the Empire itself."

۞۞۞

The fifteen-year-old Anya Alstreim jolted awake from her slumber when she felt a stir. Dazed, the young woman blinked, her crimson eyes widening at the unfamiliar sight that greeted her. "What – ?" she muttered, a vague feeling of being roughly pulled out from an awful dream sweeping over her being.

She looked around, realizing that she was still inside the cockpit of her Mordred. Outside, the desert stretched on for miles, seeming almost endless under the brilliant moonlight. "W-Where am I…?" she whispered, one hand instinctively clutching on her temples as she felt the onslaught of a headache.

The last thing she could remember was following Gino back to the Shikine Island, where the Knights of the Round were ordered to stay during their two-week assessment of Area 11. She and Gino had finished going over the area near the Chinese Federation territory much earlier than they had originally expected, prompting the easygoing Knight of Three to invite Anya to take a detour and explore the rest of what used to be Japan.

Anya had simply said yes, knowing that Gino wouldn't shut up about missing the opportunity if she didn't indulge him. Despite her bored grunts and silence, the expedition lasted two agonizing hour, the dead conversation dominated by Gino's enthusiastic praises for the land that Knight of Seven Suzaku Kururugi had come from.

It was already five o'clock in the afternoon when Gino finally decided that he had seen enough, and the two of them started back to the site of the Britannian military facility. It was barely halfway through their travel that Anya felt a sudden exhaustion engulf her, as though bidden to shut out the world and go to sleep instead.

Anya felt her breathing constrict, realizing that it had happened again. Once more, her recollection was flawed, and there was only emptiness in place of the memories that she should have. The reality that she had slept to was completely different from the reality that was facing now, like someone had taken over her consciousness while she was in a deep slumber.

Anya winced, feeling her headache worsen when she realized that her coordinates were not showing up. For some reason, her current location beyond the capability of her navigation system to define, like the site was somehow forbidden to even trace.

She looked outside through the panoramic monitors, wondering where Gino could be. Her best friend could be so distracted sometimes, but he couldn't have been distracted enough not to notice her absence, could he?

She revved up the Mordred, deciding that she would have to find her way back to the Island without Gino. The moonlight outside indicated that it was still early evening, so she couldn't have been sleeping for that long, and she could still reach the military facility before midnight.

Anya drew a breath as the Mordred rose into mid-air, her trained eyes watching the indicators on her gauges. If she could just get out of this desert, then the system would probably be able to show her her coordinates, and from there it would be easy to figure out how to return –

She stopped, her calculations interrupted by a subtle movement to her far left. Instinctively she shifted the Mordred in that direction, and narrowed her eyes when she realized what stood not too far off.

"Siegfried…?"

۞۞۞

Jeremiah maneuvered the imposing Knight Giga Fortress into mid-air stealthily, studying the intruding Knightmare from the shadows of the moonlight. He hadn't been to Britannia for a long time, but he was pretty certain that this was one of the Eighth Generation Knightmare Frames. It stood about five meters tall, with two sets of hadron cannons mounted on its either shoulder. A number of miniature proximity missile launchers were mounted on several parts of its body, all of which could cause a massive damage to whatever they would hit.

"Lord Jeremiah," the head scientist called out from the headquarters underground, sounding very tense. "What are you doing? You must destroy it _immediately_."

Jeremiah narrowed his eyes, steadying the Siegfried in mid-air. The scientist had expressed his hesitation on letting him use it without V.V.'s approval, but dealing with the intruder was top priority, and only Jeremiah could pilot the Siegfried given its requirement for nerve potential linking.

The ex-Margrave knew that many of the scientists still distrusted him, especially given his dangerous temper. Not wishing to cause a conflict within the Directorate and in expression of his gratitude for the people who helped him recover, he had gone at lengths to be at his best behavior all throughout his stay in the headquarters.

Still, that didn't mean that they could order him around. Inside the Siegfried, Jeremiah frowned, feeling slightly irritated by the scientist's tone. "I know that," he snapped. "V.V.'s instruction is to kill all intruders in sight, whether they're from the terrorist faction or the Empire itself."

"That's right," the scientist on the other line agreed, sounding relieved to hear his words. "_Destroy it._"

Jeremiah stared at the Knightmare Frame, his methodical military mind analyzing the situation. The slight movement of the Knightmare indicated that the pilot had somehow sensed his arrival, and he smirked, realizing that the pilot had to have been in the battlefield long enough to do this. "A worthy opponent."

Without missing a heartbeat, Jeremiah aimed his slash harkens and fired, sending a devastating blow to the intruding Knightmare.

۞۞۞

The assault came without warning, and Anya felt herself slam against her seat upon the impact, her headache making her vision spin. "Who are you and how did you find this place?" the Siegfried pilot demanded, his deep voice coming out stern and earnest.

Anya clenched her jaw, a rare expression of irritation gracing her features when she realized that she had been hit. "This is Britannian territory," she said as she pulled away, trying to regain her stead. She knew better than anyone else that her Mordred was too heavily armored to be scratched even by a Knight Giga Fortress, but the frustration with the insolence of the Siegfried's pilot lingered, as if taunting her. "Who are _you_?"

There was a pause, the pilot seemingly taken aback by her response. "A woman?" she heard him say, and Anya huffed, in some detached part of her mind wondering how he would react if he found out how _young _ she was.

"And you – a terrorist," she said, remembering that the Siegfried had last appeared in the battlefield a few months ago, when Zero reportedly died. The terrorists must have retrieved it for repair so they could use it against the Knightmares of the Empire – a tactic that they seemed most fond of.

The man growled in protest. "I'm _not _ a terrorist!" he snarled, just as the Siegfried picked up speed, charging in her direction.

She glanced down to the center console and checked her dials, disregarding his objection altogether. "Hitting the Mordred," she murmured instead, decisively firing her miniature proximity missiles at the Siegfried. "How impudent."

She narrowed her eyes, watching as the Siegfried simply spun rapidly, creating a shield to render her missiles useless. It took less than a moment for it to recover, and before Anya could realize it, the massive Siegfried had already started spinning toward the Mordred.

In one swift movement, she pulled on the throttle lever and drew back, her thumb fiercely pushing on the red button to enable her blaze luminous, although it did very little to alleviate the impact of the collision. Once more, Anya was sent her crashing against her seat, and it wasn't long afterwards that she felt the wave of electricity from its generators flowing through the Mordred, sending a shock to both her and her frame.

"I'm not a terrorist," the pilot repeated furiously, as if he had been terribly slighted by the words. "Carve it into your memories – Jeremiah Gottwald, the name of the man that would make you taste defeat!"

Anya shut her eyes, her body going numb as her headache worsened. That she was in a terrible condition was no excuse to battle so poorly, and as the Knight of Six Anya knew this as much as any other member of the Knights of the Round.

With trembling hands, the young woman skillfully untangled the Mordred from the grip of the Siegfried, clenching her jaw as she drew back. "Memories? That's pointless," she told him coldly, her fingers tightening around the throttle upon his words. She pressed a button on her control pad, fixing a stubborn stare at her enemy as she enabled the targeting system of her Knightmare. "I don't have any memories to begin with," she said, establishing a calculated distance between the Mordred and the Siegfried.

She leaned in to set her target, unmindful of his sudden silence. Without tearing her gaze away from the Siegfried, she pressed several buttons on the input keyboard, unfolding and merging her hadron cannons into the stark hadron cannon.

"Game over," she murmured weakly, stiffening when her vision suddenly spun, the pain flashing with savage intensity. Instinctively she let go of the controller to clutch at her temples, her breathing reduced to shallow, ragged gasps.

It was too late when she realized that her sudden movement had messed up the Mordred's aim, the stark hadron cannon's powerful blast slipping past the Siegfried in a useless explosion.

Anya felt her heart stop in the face of defeat, and watched the Siegfried's decisive approach amid her confusion and headache.

"Game over," she heard Jeremiah Gottwald affirm, just as the world slipped, and darkness took over.

۞۞۞

"The Mordred."

Jeremiah's features twisted into a contemplative frown, remembering the abrupt change in the assault of the intruding Knightmare's pilot. She was very adept in utilizing her frame, her movement and counter-offensive fluid and perfect until the very last moment, when she made a sudden shift that ruined the attack that could have effortlessly obliterated the Siegfried. "The Mordred, huh."

"Yes," the head scientist continued. "We've confirmed that it is, indeed, from the Empire. An Eighth Generation Knightmare Frame, piloted by a certain Anya Alstreim."

"_I don't have any memories to begin with."_

Jeremiah clenched his jaw, the pilot's words echoing in his mind as he watched the Mordred's sharp descent, its pilot apparently having lost control of it altogether. _Could it be – ? _ he wondered to himself.

The next thing he realized was the Siegfried's slash harkens intertwining themselves around the Mordred, stopping its plunge into the desert below. "The geass," he murmured, clenching his fists at his sides. It was that damnable ability again.

"Lord Jeremiah!" the scientist exclaimed, the surprise and apprehension evident in his strident tone. "Master V.V. will be furious if he finds out that you let an intruder live after knowing about the Directorate!"

Jeremiah lowered the Siegfried until it came to rest on the ground, settling the Mordred just beside it. "I will take responsibility for today's incident," he said, the authority so distinct in his voice that it silenced the head scientist almost immediately.

He broke free of the cords and cables attached to his body, after which he stepped out of the Siegfried. He walked up to the Mordred, stopping only when he was standing opposite the Knightmare's segment that housed the cockpit, and opened it from outside. "I only wish to have a word with the Mordred's pilot."

There was a hiss, and then a thin mist. It was a few moments later that the cockpit finally opened, revealing the unconscious pilot that had very nearly killed the ex-Margrave in the battlefield.

Jeremiah stopped, feeling the words catch in his throat.

Anya Alstreim, mistress of the heavy-artillery Mordred, was no more than a child.

**…to be continued…**

* * *

><p>I had so much fun writing this chapter, which is strange, because I've never written or liked writing battle scenes before. I think it's the finer points of the technology in Code Geass that made me enjoy it immensely. The details about the Knightmares have always slipped me, but writing this made me pay close attention to them, and even prompted me to research about military aircraft and how they work. I have greater respect for Sunrise after this, as well as to the person who updates the Code Geass wikia.<p>

I wanted to replicate Anya and Jeremiah's battle and first meeting in Turn 25 of R2, but this chapter happens before the Siegfried is upgraded by Rakshata into a Sutherland Sieg – the one that the Mordred battles in the final episode. As much as I adore Jeremiah, I couldn't let him destroy the Mordred either, because that would have had some serious consequences to the canon. I left the battle to be a draw instead.

_**Q:**__ So since the knights of the round are at Ashford, does Lelouch have his memories back or since this is AU the knights came early?__**  
>A: <strong>__The Knights arrive in Ashford Academy much earlier than they do in canon, so Lelouch has yet to gain back his memories. C.C. hasn't made contact with him at this point._

It's always a delight to know that someone's reading, so do leave a review and tell me what you think. :)

**Hilaire****  
>01.23.12<strong>


	6. A Curious Contradiction

Glad to know that more people are reading. :)

* * *

><p><em>"There were no sparks,<br>__just the gasoline fire burning through the dark."_  
>Monster by Dev<p>

* * *

><p><strong>Lesson VI<strong>

**A Curious Contradiction**

_Gottwald Estate, five months ago._

Anya shifted on the bed, her consciousness still caught in the line between dreams and reality. She rolled over onto her side, unable to disregard the morning sunlight even in her half-sleep. With a quiet moan, the young woman pulled on the covers, opening her listless eyes to check the time.

She paused, her sleepy gaze falling on the tall figure that was looking out the floor-length windows next to her bed. She squinted, unsure whether she was still in a dream, or the glare of the sunlight was making her see a mirage of a person. Distractedly she turned her stare to the rest of the spacious bedroom, her eyes widening when she realized that it was not her own.

She blinked, her sleepiness suddenly forgotten as she shifted her bewildered gaze to the man in the room. He had his back to her, quietly beholding the falling cherry blossom petals outside. He was very tall, and powerfully built; the formal, stylish attire that he donned on only accentuating his broad shoulders and well-defined physique. His skin was a beautiful tan, the sort that could only be acquired from being out in the sun far more than necessary.

Anya huffed, realizing that he was a military man.

The young woman pulled herself up, the rustle of the covers seeming to disrupt his thoughts. He turned to her, and it was only then that Anya saw the mask that concealed half of his face. "You're awake," he greeted, a hint of concern gracing his ruthless features as he approached her.

Anya drew back instinctively, cursing herself when she realized what she had done. The Knight of Six was afraid of no one – not even Jeremiah Gottwald, the man who had somehow conquered her and her Mordred in the battlefield.

She narrowed her eyes at the thought, realizing that she actually remembered his name.

Jeremiah halted a few paces from the bed, her reaction to his approach seeming to have made its point. "How are you feeling?" he asked instead, his solemn tone nearly obscuring the worry in his voice.

Anya stopped, the unexpected question prompting her to check on herself. Her mind was much clearer and her headache was gone, but in place of it was an unsettling sense of uncertainty and exhaustion, as if her sleep had only served to weaken her further.

She exhaled, her pride getting the better of her as she glanced up at him. "I'm fine," she murmured, her voice coming out much stronger than she felt. The look in Jeremiah's gaze already told her how fragile he thought her to be, and there was simply no way she would prove him right by admitting to it.

"That's good to hear," he said, making her arch an eyebrow in incredulity. She might not have seen his expression while they were in the battlefield, but she was certain that the man had the full intention of killing her, if she didn't kill him first.

It was one of the unwritten rules of war, and Anya could only wonder why Jeremiah had chosen to break it at very last second, when triumph was already undoubtedly his.

Jeremiah furrowed his eyebrows, looking quite discomfited by her silence. "You've been asleep for two days, and – "

"Two days?" she cut off, lifting her head so she could look at him squarely. Jeremiah was very tall, and she silently wished he would sit down to level their gazes. "I've been asleep for two days?"

He gave a slow nod. "That's right."

Anya shifted, unsure what to make of what he told her. "Gino," she murmured, remembering that her best friend had last seen her before she even battled with the Siegfried. If her memory was correct, then it meant that it had been nearly three days since she lost Gino on their way back to the military base.

The young woman narrowed her eyes thoughtfully, knowing that there was no way to determine what exactly Gino Weinberg could do when it concerned her. The Knight of Three might act like a complete idiot most times, but the young man was very protective of her. Anya could already imagine how furious he must have been with himself when he realized that he had lost her, and in a foreign land like Area 11, too.

Jeremiah gave her an apologetic look. "The doctors advised me against waking you up," he told her, "so I let you take a rest instead." He fixed her with a careful stare. "You looked like you could use some of it."

Anya was quiet, feeling absolutely puzzled by him. He had established the fact that they were enemies the moment he launched his first attack on the Mordred, but now he was just simply contradicting himself: First by not killing her when he had the chance, and second by apparently even asking a doctor to check up on her.

What the hell was this man thinking?

"Where's my Mordred?" she asked him curtly, unwilling to further think about him and what he was doing. She pulled the covers away from herself, the thought of her Knightmare enough to make her forget about everything else. "I need to see – "

She stopped, frowning as her gaze fell upon what she was wearing. Instead of her usual outfit as the Knight of Six, she was wearing a white, chiffon nightdress. It reached only above her knees, the soft silk hugging her small form perfectly.

Anya glanced up at Jeremiah, and found that he had already fixed his gaze at the far end of the room, staring away politely. She elevated an eyebrow at the hint of unease that graced his features. "Did you take off my clothes?" she asked him, bluntly and unthinkingly.

At this Jeremiah sputtered, prompting a smirk on Anya's lips. "N-No, of course not!" he denied indignantly. "I couldn't let you sleep in those clothes, so I had a lady servant change them for you."

Anya watched him squirm, feeling almost amused. At last, when she decided she had made him uncomfortable enough, she gave a dismissive shrug, unsure why Jeremiah should sound so embarrassed. She was only asking a question. "I see," she said, pulling the covers over herself as she lay back down on the bed.

Jeremiah glanced at her, appearing quite relieved when he saw that she was buried under the covers. "My apologies," he told her. "I haven't even introduced myself – "

"Jeremiah Gottwald," she murmured, earning a surprised look from him.

"You remember," he said, the odd hint of wonder in his tone indicating that he himself remembered her remark about having no memories.

Anya scoffed. She should have known better than to tell a stranger like him about her unreliable memories. "You were going to kill me," she told him instead, watching him stiffen. "How can I forget?"

For a few moments Jeremiah remained silent, looking visibly distressed by his inability to refute her words. At last, when he seemed to have found his voice, he gave her a careful stare, and started tentatively. "I was going to," he admitted.

Anya narrowed her eyes. "I'm still alive," she pointed out. "What made you change your mind?"

Jeremiah stared at her, his unsmiling expression seeming to grow more bleak and cold by the second. "I wish to talk to you about your memories."

۞۞۞

The fifteen-year-old Knight of Six turned away from the windows when she heard the door open, watching as the Eleven servant placed the carefully folded Knights of the Round uniform on top of her bed.

"Where is this place?" she asked, as soon as the woman looked over to her. Jeremiah had left her to bathe and prepare herself for breakfast, so she might as well use the time to know more about him and whatever clandestine undertaking he was engaged in.

Jeremiah had intended to kill her in order to protect a secret, and there was no way that Anya would leave the estate without finding out what that secret was.

The dark-haired Eleven clasped her hands together politely. "This is the Gottwald Estate. We are in one of the residential districts in the Tokyo Settlement, not too far off from the Palace of the Viceroy."

Anya considered the answer as she turned back to the beautiful landscape outside the room she was staying in. Down below, stretching far and wide, was a gorgeous terrain of many varieties of flowers, seeming to be in their most striking under the morning sunlight. Far ahead, tall, spiked iron fences lined the parameters of the estate, adding to the mixture of intimidation and luxury that it effortlessly exuded.

This wasn't the place where she had battled with Jeremiah.

"The reports said he died in the Battle of Narita," Anya said as she turned on her heel to look at the Eleven again.

"That's correct, my Lady," the servant agreed, her brief response prompting the younger woman to lift an eyebrow. Anya hadn't expected that extracting information from an Eleven servant would be difficult – especially not when Jeremiah was one of the most prominent members of the Purist Faction, and also one of the most outspoken against the Britannian Honorary System.

Anya leaned against the wall thoughtfully, remembering how _that _ particular detail about Jeremiah was disputable now, ever since the day he had fallen to disgrace. The Orange Fiasco had successfully casted doubt upon the ex-Margrave's loyalty, and Anya was more than certain that it would be nearly impossible for Jeremiah to live it down. Not when the entire world had witnessed it, and especially not when the same world was always plagued by betrayal and doubt.

Anya could almost pity him, if she cared enough.

The young woman looked over to the Eleven. "It must have been a surprise for you when he came back."

The servant nodded, a slight smile falling on her lips. "It was a delightful surprise, Lady Anya. We were all very disheartened to know about his supposed death, and we were only too happy to know that it had all been a terrible mistake."

Anya was quiet, puzzled by the woman's words. "You seem fond of him," she remarked, making no attempt to hide the curiosity in her voice.

The servant's smile seemed to widen. "We all are, my Lady," she said, regarding Anya's frown with a hint of amusement. "Lord Jeremiah is very kind to those that prove their loyalty to him, whether a Britannian or an Eleven." She smiled at Anya, frank and earnest. "If you must know, the Master is one of the reasons why we haven't completely lost faith in Britannia."

Anya was quiet, feeling faintly surprised by what she learned. "What an odd contradiction," she murmured, remembering that the very reason she was still alive was that Jeremiah had changed his mind about killing her the last second.

"He is, isn't he," the Eleven agreed lightly. "I hope he didn't scare you with his temper."

Anya lifted an eyebrow. "Temper?" she repeated.

The servant nodded. "Lord Jeremiah has been under a lot of stress ever since he was stripped of his title as the Margrave," she said. "We have observed that his temper has been more delicate ever since he returned to this place, many months after the Battle of Narita, and the smallest things are easy to upset him."

Anya scoffed at this information, remembering how Jeremiah had flared up when she made a mention of him being a terrorist. "Huh."

The Eleven gave her a kind smile. "Lord Jeremiah was truly worried about you, my Lady. He was constantly beside you in your sleep, and only left briefly when he received a call from his work."

Anya felt her frown deepen, wondering if the Eleven knew that her first meeting with Jeremiah consisted of a silent, mutual plan to end each other's lives. She wasn't even sure if she should feel grateful for his help, or just insulted.

She thought it over for a few moments, the memory of Jeremiah looking at her like she was the most fragile thing in the world tugging in her mind, and decided that what she felt was more irritation than anything else. "How annoying."

The servant responded with a quiet smile, before excusing herself to make preparations and promptly taking her leave. Anya watched her disappear into another door inside the room, furrowing her eyebrows as her earlier conversation with Jeremiah repeated in her mind.

When he told her that he wanted to talk to her about her memories, the look of pity that had adorned his features had been most unsettling. Jeremiah had looked like he knew something about her memories that she herself did not, and Anya hated it. It made her feel helpless and pathetic and weak, to be relying on someone else for something that was rightfully hers.

It was at that moment that the door opened again, revealing the Eleven servant once more. "I've drawn your bath, Lady Anya," she announced, with a slight curtsy.

Anya looked over to the Eleven, the warring of her pride and emotions prompting her to clench her fists at her sides. It lasted only fleetingly, completely obscured by her blank expression, and yet to Anya it seemed like a small lifetime, the unbidden unease engulfing her in a cold embrace.

The young narrowed her eyes grimly, surrendering to the fact that the puzzle of her memories was something she would willingly throw everything away for, including her very own pride. "All right," she murmured.

Jeremiah Gottwald was waiting for her in the garden.

۞۞۞

Jeremiah stared at the variety of flowers and greenery that were sprawled across the landscape, a curious kind of emptiness tugging at his chest when he realized that it had been a long time since had the time to appreciate nature.

With a wistful smirk he started for the garden, marveling how much had happened ever since he decided that he would join the Britannian Army. Childhood had ended much earlier for him than it did for other children, and it was too late when he realized that there was no retrieving those precious moments once they had slipped between his fingers.

The butler was waiting for him under the tall cherry blossom tree, where a scrumptious table of breakfast was prepared. The gray-haired man bowed as Jeremiah approached, smiling politely as the lord of the estate took his seat. "Good morning, Lord Jeremiah."

Jeremiah acknowledged him with a slight nod. "Good morning," he said, picking up the cup of coffee that the butler was quick to pour him. "Where's my guest?"

"Lady Anya is already on her way, my Lord," he said.

Jeremiah sipped on his coffee before placing it back down. "I see," he said, before nodding to his butler. "You may leave now, Minoru. I'll ring for you if I will need anything else," he added, and watched as the Eleven dipped in a bow once more before returning to the mansion.

Jeremiah sighed, leaning back against his seat as he enjoyed the silence around him. He let his gaze wander around the beautiful garden before himself, wondering how his home could be so peaceful when his own mind and heart were in turmoil.

It was a perfect contradiction, and in some other time, Jeremiah would have chuckled at the irony.

He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to clear his head. The last couple of days had left him tense and anxious, worrying over what he had done and the young woman whom he had chosen to take home with him.

Anya Alstreim had collapsed in exhaustion in the middle of their combat, and remained in a deep slumber for an entire two days. The young woman had concerned him more than he was sincerely willing to admit, and in those two days Jeremiah found himself constantly checking up on her and waiting for her to awaken.

The members of the Geass Directorate had been furious when he informed them that he would take her to his estate in the Tokyo Settlement, where he would wait for her to wake up. Wishing to create no further conflict, Jeremiah chose to contact V.V., knowing that sparing Anya's life in the battlefield had already stirred enough trouble as it was.

V.V. hadn't sounded pleased to know about the latest development in the headquarters, although the fact that the Knightmare was from the Empire seemed to interest him, if only to some extent.

"_The Mordred, Master V.V.," the head scientist said, his arms crossed over his chest tensely as he glanced over to his peers. "A Knight of the Round pilots it."_

_There was a long pause. "Did you kill the pilot?" V.V. asked, his voice coming across as bored, even over the static._

_Jeremiah nodded to the head scientist, knowing that this was a question for him to answer. He was the one who battled against the Mordred, after all. "I chose not to," he said, his voice coming out strong and steady. He knew even before stepping into the Siegfried that what was going to happen would entirely be his responsibility, including the death of the intruding Knightmare's pilot._

_Or, in this case, the _survival_ of that same intruder._

"_May I ask why?" V.V. asked, his voice taking on a tone of childish curiosity._

Jeremiah frowned at the memory. He had known that V.V. would ask about his reason for doing what he did, although it still did nothing to make it any easier to respond. Under the circumstances, the answer was far trickier than anyone else in the room could possibly think it was.

Prior to contacting V.V., he had stayed up all night thinking about the whole thing, and spent most of the time cursing himself when he realized that his theory hardly made any sense. The original reasoning for his action was his conjecture that Anya's memory loss must somehow be related to the geass, or perhaps even caused by a geass. It would, for one thing, explain why she found the desert under which the Directorate Headquarters was situated, despite the fact that the only individuals who could locate it were those that had a connection to the geass, or the Directorate itself.

Jeremiah knew that there existed one geass that could tamper with a person's memories, and that was Emperor Charles zi Britannia's. V.V. had made it clear from the very beginning that the Geass Directorate was operating under the endorsement of the Emperor himself, who also possessed the ability.

It was the Emperor who altered Lelouch's memories upon the young man's capture, and it was easy to imagine that his Highness must have used his geass on other individuals on several other instances, under which he deemed necessary. Considering Anya's proximity to him, in addition to her position as the Knight of Six, it was very likely that the Emperor had once cast his geass upon Anya, either replacing her memories or simply taking them away altogether.

It was a very plausible deduction, and even Jeremiah would have impressed himself with his guesswork, if he could somehow determine the last, biggest piece of the puzzle that kept it from being solved:

Why would Emperor Charles tamper with Anya's memories?

Jeremiah shook his head at the question. Even back then, he had already realized that it was probably none of his business, but he still hadn't been able to keep his curiosity from getting the better of him. Anya's words refused to leave him, cynical and cold as they were, prompting a sympathy that he knew she more than deserved. The young woman had reminded him not so subtly of the many things that he had lost because of the geass, and he could only marvel why the Emperor should make Anya suffer the same fate.

_Jeremiah started, knowing that he couldn't simply stand idle while someone else suffered because of the guess._ _No one – and much less a child like Anya Alstreim – should go through the same hell as he had. And so he cleared his throat, steeling himself. "I remember her from many years ago."_

That answer had been vague, just as any lie should be. Mentioning specifics would have only made things more complicated than they should be, and Jeremiah was more than unwilling to have to deal with that.

Of course, he should have known that V.V. would show more interest in Anya, especially since she was an intruder. The fact that she had stepped into the Directorate's territory wasn't changed by the fact that she was the Knight of Six, or that he supposedly know her from many years ago.

"_Is that so?" V.V. remarked, with just a hint of curiosity in his voice. "Why is that?"_

_Jeremiah felt the words catch in his throat, feeling quite certain that V.V. had figured out his lie, and was asking questions to make him slip. The Directorate's leader remained quiet as he waited for an answer, and in a moment of panic, Jeremiah heard himself breathing out a response, the words tumbling out faster than he could have thought they could._

"_Anya Alstreim was my besotted five years ago." _

The ex-Margrave huffed, still flinching at the lie he had uttered back then. Arranged marriages were not unheard of in Britannia, especially given its political environment. Noble families were always on the lookout to find the best consort for their children, mostly to increase their wealth and establish the connection necessary to influence how politics worked.

_There was a heavy silence, and Jeremiah shifted, cursing himself for his stupidity. What had he been thinking! Anya Alstreim's records indicated that she was only fifteen – which meant she had been engaged to him when she was only _ten_ years old. Of course he knew that most families arranged the engagement of their children before they even reached the age of consent, but still –_

"_I see," V.V. said. "So why was the engagement broken off?"_

_Jeremiah blinked. "I broke it off before they could formally announce it," he said, heedlessly weaving the story as he spoke. He doubted V.V. was even interested in what was saying, but he had to be sure that his lies were consistent. "At the time, I was already the Margrave of Area 11, and I thought marriage was simply unnecessary."_

The story had been most plausible, but back then Jeremiah had been more than tempted to growl in frustration. There were so many other reasons that he could have come up with for 'remembering' Anya, and it was beyond him why he had chosen to say that they were engaged before.

_Much to Jeremiah's surprise, V.V. chuckled, sounding darkly amused. "Ever since the beginning of time, it has always been women who seduce men into evil," he remarked, the grimness of his tone giving the impression that the statement was anchored on an event he had witnessed before. _

_Jeremiah started. "Then – "_

"_It's all right," V.V. cut off. "I don't think Charles would have appreciated us killing one the Knights of the Round, anyway," he said. "Just make sure Miss Anya Alstreim will learn no further about the Geass Directorat." There was a pause. "I trust that you know better than to let a woman guide your actions, Sir Jeremiah."_

Jeremiah stirred his coffee, frowning thoughtfully at V.V.'s words. He knew that this was very foolish, but despite V.V.'s warning, he couldn't just dismiss Anya's missing memories to the back of his mind. He was almost too sure that it was caused by the geass – the same cursed ability that had taken everything away from him. He wasn't going to let it do the same thing to someone else, and not when he knew he could do something about it.

He raised his gaze, pausing when he caught sight of the young woman who had been overtaking his thoughts. Anya Alstreim was clad in a pretty white dress that had been prepared for her, remaining unspeaking as she followed the female butler to where he was. Her crimson eyes were blank and empty, surveying the beautiful garden with what he could only describe to be absolute boredom.

He rose from his seat as she stopped in front of him. "Jeremiah Gottwald," she murmured softly, narrowing her eyes at him. "What do you know about my memories?"

"_Ever since the beginning of time, it has always been women who seduce men into evil."_

Looking at Anya Alstreim now, with the faintest but most genuine expression of desperation on her pretty face, Jeremiah Gottwald wondered if V.V. had been right all along.

**…to be continued…**

* * *

><p>The flashback to seven months ago was meant to last only two chapters, but I had too much fun writing and it got so much longer. I'll try to wrap it up in the next update, so we can proceed to the story of the present.<p>

_**Q: **__Does Jeremiah have the geass canceller yet?__**  
>A: <strong>__No, he still doesn't. In the flashback in Lesson III, V.V. tells Jeremiah that the geass will be his in six months. In Lesson IV, Jeremiah explicitly says he has yet to acquire the geass._

On another note, I'm happy to know that more people are reading. Thanks for adding this to your alerts and favorites! It would mean so much to me if you would also leave some review and constructive criticisms. :D

**Hilaire****  
>02.12.12<strong>


	7. The Lying Memories

I have a very good explanation for being late. But that's for later; read for now! :)

* * *

><p><em>"There were no sparks,<br>__just the gasoline fire burning through the dark."_  
>Monster by Dev<p>

* * *

><p><strong>Lesson VII<strong>

**The Lying Memories**

_Gottwald Estate, five months ago._

The garden was silent except for the clinking of porcelain as the food was being served. A gentle breeze stirred the leaves every now and then, its coldness a complete contrast to the warmth of the early morning sunlight.

Seated opposite Jeremiah, the young woman chose to keep her gaze on the tall archway of roses standing far behind him, stubbornly refusing to meet his eyes. She kept at it until she found herself absentmindedly looking at him, and saw that he was politely staring away from her as well, his restlessness made more than evident by his stiff posture.

Anya blinked perfunctorily, unsure why Jeremiah should be so tense. If she remembered correct, then the man should be staring at her proudly – perhaps even contemptuously. While it was arguable that she hadn't been in the best condition when she went up against him, the end result was undisputable: She had fallen unconscious in the middle of their battle, and the only reason that she was still alive was because he chose to keep her so.

The Eleven servant placed down the glass pitcher on the table, disrupting Anya's musings. The woman clasped her hands together politely, having finished serving their food. "Please enjoy your breakfast."

Jeremiah nodded to her. "Thank you, Rika. I'll ring for you once we finish," he said, to which the Eleven responded with a courteous bow. With a gentle smile in Anya's direction, the woman retreated back into the mansion, leaving the two in the heavy silence.

It was Jeremiah who chose to break it first, seeming to be more at ease now that they were alone. "Eat up," he said, gesturing to the scrumptious breakfast on the table.

Anya stared at him, feeling slightly puzzled by his invitation. "I didn't come here to have breakfast with you," she told him, making no move to do as he told her to. He said he wanted to talk to her about her memories, and the last thing she expected was to have breakfast with him.

Jeremiah looked back at her frankly. "But I called you here for that," he told her, sounding quite concerned despite his strict tone. He paused, seemingly waiting for her to move, and heaved a sigh when she didn't budge. "You haven't eaten properly since you fell unconscious in the battlefield."

Anya narrowed her eyes, unsure what to make sure of his words. Jeremiah didn't sound like he was mocking her for collapsing during their battle, but that didn't change the fact that she couldn't stand being reminded of what had happened only two days ago.

Especially not by this man, who obviously thought that she couldn't fend for herself.

"I don't need your concern," she told him bluntly, wondering if Jeremiah realized that he was talking to the Knight of Six. She inwardly cursed herself when she remembered that she was not wearing her uniform, but the lavish white dress that the servant had given her to change into after her bath. She had been so distracted by the thoughts of her missing memories that she had barely paid attention to the Eleven when she gave it to her.

"_Lord Jeremiah bought it for you, Lady Anya."_

"I know you don't," Jeremiah said, helping himself to a serving of bacon, as if to persuade her to eat. "You _are_ the Knight of Six, aren't you, Anya?"

Anya paused, feeling slightly surprised to hear her name from his lips. "You know who I am," she murmured, before she could stop herself. Jeremiah made her name sound so familiar, calling her like they were not strangers, like they had known each other for a very long time.

"Anya Alstreim, Knight of Six. The youngest of all twelve," Jeremiah said easily. Without missing a heartbeat, he leaned over to her across the table, placing a generous serving of pancake, bacon and eggs on her plate before returning to his seat. "Now eat," he told her lightly, the command unmistakable in his voice.

Anya gave him a glare, not at all appreciating his gesture. "Don't order me around," she told him coldly, but turned her attention to the food on her plate, anyway. She _was _ hungry, and would have been more than enthusiastic to finally eat if Jeremiah wasn't around flaunting how he was the adult and she was no more than a delicate little child that needed his care.

Reluctantly she picked up her fork and took a small bite of her pancake, trying not to think of it as a surrender to him. There was going to be hell to pay once she had eaten, and Jeremiah had better prepare himself for that.

The two of them spent the next several minutes in silence. Anya turned her complete attention to her food, barely lifting her gaze unless for the occasional glances around the garden, letting her eyes feast on its beauty. She almost smirked when she realized how peaceful it was, an odd contradiction to the violent war that she was used to.

Anya looked over to Jeremiah, noting how preoccupied he seemed to be. The many years he had endured in the military seemed to have accentuated his sharp features, now adorned by an expression that looked curiously troubled.

Anya frowned, realizing that it was his eyes that gave him away. His eyes, or at least the one unobscured by his mask, made it clear how lost he was in the quiet, distressed by a torrent of thoughts that he would probably never tell a soul. Against her will the Knight of Six found herself wondering how much Jeremiah must have gone through to be the Margrave of Area 11 – a position that he easily lost because of Zero and the Orange incident.

"Is it true?" she asked, before she could stop herself.

Jeremiah blinked, as if surprised by both her question and the fact that she had spoken to him. "Is what true?"

She shrugged. Suzaku Kururugi's intended public execution had been broadcasted in real time in Britannia, and she could still remember how interested she had been by how it all turned out. "That you were conspiring with the terrorists against Britannia," she said. Margrave Jeremiah Gottwald was one of the most prominent members of the Purist Faction, and it came as a surprise to many that he could betray the Empire that he had been serving for most of his life.

Jeremiah's expression darkened. "It's not true at all," he said, his voice coming out in a cold, throaty rasp. "It was nothing but a ruse that Zero used to discredit me."

"But you let Suzaku go," she pointed out.

From across the table, Jeremiah huffed, looking very frustrated by his inability to deny her words. "That's something I can't explain to you at this point."

Anya arched an eyebrow at this, but chose not to comment. The inconsistency that characterized the Orange incident was still a puzzle to her, but she wasn't interested enough to look into it if even Jeremiah wasn't willing to explain.

Once more silence ruled over them, the atmosphere heavy and thick. Anya turned back to her food, trying not to think about the fact that she was having breakfast with the man who had almost killed her, and that Gino was probably already raising hell in the military base because of her disappearance.

It was several minutes later when she finally finished her food, and she looked up at Jeremiah. The man was staring at the small pond of water lilies nearby, although he appeared too caught up in his musings to really see anything. A mixture of stubbornness and anger seemed to emanate from him, and Anya found herself _almost_ intimidated.

_Don't be stupid, Anya._

As if feeling her stare on him, Jeremiah paused and turned to look at her. "You're done."

Anya squared her shoulders, fixing him with an intent stare. "Tell me what you know about my memories."

۞۞۞

Jeremiah watched the hint of impatience return to Anya's eyes as soon as the servants had gone back inside the mansion, having finished clearing the table. "You enjoy keeping me waiting, don't you?" she murmured with irritation.

"Not at all," he disagreed. "I just don't want you collapsing in front of me again." He saw her narrow her eyes at him, and he shook his head, unwilling to give her the opportunity to say her retort. The Knight of Six was a willful child, and it wasn't hard to imagine that they would never be able to proceed if he allowed her to answer everything that he said. "That's enough, Anya. We're going to talk about your memories."

Anya huffed, turning away petulantly. "I don't understand why you're even interested in them," she said, without even a glance at him. "They have nothing to do with a stranger like you."

Jeremiah paused, knowing that it was most certainly not his place to be asking her about her memories. He _was_ a stranger to her, and even more than that: He was a stranger to the Empire that he supposedly betrayed.

Then again, he couldn't disregard the likelihood that Anya's memories were missing because of the geass.. He'd gone too far to know about Anya's memories and its possible relationship with the geass, and he wasn't about to turn back empty-handed. "I've already made it my business," he simply told her. "If I may, I'd like to ask you a couple of questions."

Anya lifted her chin, giving him another one of her characteristic empty stares. "Go ahead."

He placed his hands on the table, clasping them together as he spoke. "While we were in battle," he started, "what did you mean when you told me you have no memories?"

The young woman looked back at him frankly. "Exactly that," she said. "I have no memories to speak of."

Jeremiah furrowed his eyebrows, shifting in his seat. He should have known that Anya wouldn't make things easy for him, especially after he reminded her of how she had fainted in the middle of their battle. It had resulted in an undisputable draw, but the young woman very obviously considered it to be an embarrassing defeat. "Did you have an accident?" he asked.

A cynical smirk tugged at the corner of Anya's lips. "An accident would have been more acceptable," she said. "Tell me: At what age did you decide to become a member of the military?"

Jeremiah stared at her, surprised by the question that seemed to have come out of nowhere. "I was seven then," he told her, unsure why she had asked. "I've always wanted to be in the military."

"And you trust the person that you were, many years ago?"

He narrowed his eyes, a vague understanding of why she was asking such question dawning on him. "Are you suggesting that a determination in the past is foolish?" he asked. "That I can't trust my seven-year-old self – the very person that I once was?"

Anya picked up her small camera from the table, flipping it open. "People's memories are unreliable," she told him. "They are not worth believing in." She pushed several buttons on her handheld device as she spoke. "How can you be sure that you _did_ make that decision when you were seven years old, or that you have always wanted to join the military?"

Jeremiah found himself at a loss for words. "Unreliable…?" he repeated, his voice coming out doubtful and unsure. "But one's memories – "

"They are worthless," Anya cut off, holding up the small camera and snapping a picture of his surprised expression.

"_Recorded. Thank you."_

Anya glanced up at him, her blank eyes as if looking through him. "I have a diary I wrote nine years ago, when I was six years old," she said, her expression remaining impassive despite the gravity of her words. "I don't remember any of it."

Jeremiah stiffened, feeling both his heart and mind race when realized the implications of her words. "Anya – " he murmured, well aware of the fact that the young woman had more than confirmed his suspicion about her missing memories. _The geass – _

"My memories and the data I recorded are different," the young woman added, without even a pause to acknowledge the surprise that fell upon his features. "I wrote down one thing, and remember another." she said, her tone bland and dead; as if she was simply reciting a story that she had memorized by heart.

The ex-margrave clenched his jaw, suddenly very careful with the choice of his words. "These inconsistencies," he said. "Would you tell me more about them?"

Anya was browsing through her camera-diary as she spoke. "I'm Anya Alstreim, the sole heiress to the Alstreim fortune," she started. "I live with a trusted butler, who has been with my family for a very long time. My parents, who were an earl and a countess, passed away when I was only several months old." The young woman paused, holding up her diary to him. "Or at least, according to my memories."

Jeremiah leaned in, narrowing his eyes at the picture. It showed a much younger Anya uncharacteristically smiling in front of a beautifully embellished layered cake, the flame from the '6' candle illuminating her crimson eyes. Behind her stood a lovely old couple, who both bore a striking resemblance to the young lady. "You celebrated your sixth birthday with them," he said, to which Anya shrugged.

"I wouldn't know. I don't remember any of it," she said, placing her camera on her lap. "And neither do they."

Jeremiah paused. "Them?"

Anya looked at him in the eye. "I saw them in a gathering once, in the palace of the Emperor," she said. "We bear the same name of Alstreim, but they said they didn't know me, or why I would have a picture of us together." A dark smirk turned up the corner of her lips. "They said their daughter died when she was six years old."

Jeremiah clenched his jaw, willing himself not to flinch. "What about the other people around you? What do they tell you about your parents?"

Anya's face was a mask of perfect indifference. "They only confirm what I remember," she said.

For a long time, Jeremiah was quiet, the magnitude of Anya's words rendering him wordless. He hadn't realized it until then, but Anya's missing memories had harmed the young lady in more ways than one. For the first time ever since he met the Knight of Six, it dawned on him how truly serious the geass was, like a timeless curse that never lost its potency, no matter which shape it took.

The public disgrace he had gone through would pale in comparison to the nightmare that Anya Alstreim had been living ever since eight years ago.

He looked at the young lady before himself, wondering how exactly the young woman had endured such gaping contradiction in the last several years. Anya even came to be one of the Knights of the Round for the Emperor, which was not an easy feat –

Jeremiah drew in a breath, holding the thought. "How did you become the Knight of Six?" he asked, his voice coming out low and strained, trying to keep himself from being too agitated. That Anya's missing memories was caused by a geass was obvious enough, but he'd learned enough in the last several months to know that he shouldn't jump in with imperfect information about either allies or enemies – especially when it concerned the geass.

Anya furrowed her eyebrows, seemingly confused by the question. For a moment or two she simply stared at him, a flicker of doubt flashing in her eyes and lingering there. "When the Empress died, I was ordered by the Emperor to stay behind," she said.

The ex-margrave gripped the edge of the table more forcefully than necessary at the mention of the Empress. "You mean the Empress Marianne?" he asked, doing his utmost to keep his tone leveled. "You stayed in the palace of the Empress?"

Anya nodded. "Before they passed away, my parents had already arranged for me to be sent to the Imperial Villa at Aries, to be an apprentice for proper etiquette to the Empress," she said. "I arrived one year before her death."

Jeremiah pressed his lips together, becoming more and more restless by the second. "Do you remember anything days before and after the death of the Empress?" he asked, the thought that Anya might have been a witness to the Empress' murder refusing to leave him alone. He know that he shouldn't even consider it, but it only made sense for the Emperor to tamper with Anya's memories if the young lady had witnessed it, and the Emperor had something to do with it.

"No," Anya said, with a slight frown. "All I remember is that I was sick, and that I was confined in my room the entire week."

Jeremiah gave a stern nod, his unruffled exterior a complete contradiction to the chaos in his heart. The thought that the Emperor must have had something to do with the Empress Marianne's death was something that he had refused to even think about in the last eight years, simply because it was too preposterous to even consider.

Emperor Charles loved the Empress Marianne; it was something that Jeremiah could not doubt. He had stayed in the Palace long enough to know how differently His Majesty treated the former Knight of the Rounds from his other consorts. The Emperor had always been cold and reserved, and almost antagonistic; but whenever the Empress was around, the man who already held the world firmly between his fingers would smile, as though for the first time, in the truest sense of the word, everything was finally his.

He looked over to the young woman from across the table, watching her quietly turn back to her camera. The only reason why His Majesty must have gone at lengths to alter her memories was that Anya must have seen something too important for the Emperor to risk being discovered – like the truth behind the Empress' murder.

Jeremiah clenched his jaw. It was impossible. The Emperor couldn't have killed the Empress.

"What are you thinking?"

Jeremiah blinked, only then realizing that Anya was staring at him. "I just – " he hesitated, unsure how to put his thoughts to words.

There was still something wrong with the picture that he'd come up with – something that didn't quite fit with the rest of the puzzle. If his Majesty truly did have something to do what had transpired, then it would make sense to think that he had casted his geass on Anya to keep the girl from saying anything about it.

But why did His Majesty still keep the young lady close to him? A simple elimination of her memory of the night that the Empress died would have been sufficient, but the Emperor didn't stop there, and instead even cut off Anya's connection with everyone else – including her own family.

_Why?_

"Would you know why the Emperor kept you?" Jeremiah asked, after a thoughtful pause. The whole thing was turning out to be much trickier than he could have imagined, and he wasn't certain if he was thrilled by this or not.

Anya seemed confused by the question. "Prior to her death, the Empress had included me in her list of candidates for the military," she said. "The Emperor only approved of it after what happened, and I was ordered to stay in the Palace, while waiting to be sent off to military school."

"And you were only seven," he remarked.

Anya narrowed her eyes. "The youngest to be considered," she murmured, looking down to her camera with the characteristic blankness in her gaze. "I wasn't even aware I was being considered for the military."

"You weren't?" Jeremiah asked, lifting an eyebrow in curiosity.

The Knight of Six fiddled with her camera as she spoke. "I was there to be an apprentice for proper etiquette; not to try out for the military," she said, looking away to the pond of water lilies nearby. "I don't understand why the Empress must have suggested me at all."

A heavy silence descended upon them once again, and Jeremiah sighed, marveling at the emptiness in Anya's eyes. The young woman's beautiful crimsons were cold and dull; like the light in them had long been extinguished, and her very own life had been taken away from her.

Jeremiah inwardly scoffed, realizing that it was probably not too far from the truth.

"What if the Empress didn't?" he asked, before he could stop himself.

Anya gave him a puzzled glance. "What do you mean?"

Jeremiah squared his shoulders, narrowing his eyes contemplatively. "What if the Emperor only made that up to keep you away from everyone else?" he said. "What if the reason that His Majesty sent you away to military school has something to do with your missing memories?"

Anya paused, tensing up. "What are you saying?" she asked, her voice coming out in a hoarse whisper.

"_Ever since the beginning of time, it has always been women who seduce men into evil."_

"I might be able to help you retrieve your memories," he started, ignoring the rapid thudding of his heart. "But first, we have to start from the very beginning."

Anya blinked, and in that split second Jeremiah could have sworn he saw a flicker of life in her eyes. It lasted only fleetingly, but it was all that the fallen margrave needed to make his decision. He lifted his chin, giving the young lady a grim nod.

"Let me tell you about the geass."

۞۞۞

_Geass Directorate Headquarters, five months ago._

The photograph showed the youngest of the Knights of the Round in a white cocktail dress, standing bored and unsmiling amidst the other Knights in what appeared to be a banquet in Britannia. The young woman was clearly uninterested in the merrymaking around her, her crimson eyes blank and dead, giving the impression that she had only showed up in the event in accordance with the orders of the Emperor, as one of the Knights.

V.V. regarded the picture with a smirk, not missing the small camera that the Knight of Six was holding in her hands. It looked distinctly out of place, especially in the hands of someone who seemed like she would rather be in the battlefield destroying Knightmares than in a ridiculous party acting like a proper lady.

"So this was the intruder that Jeremiah chose not to kill," he remarked.

Bartley Asprius nodded sternly. "We're already finding out as much as we can about her, as you've instructed." He lowered his voice. "With discretion, of course."

The golden-haired leader of the Directorate felt his smirk grow wider. "Good." He lifted his gaze to Bartley, a flicker of dark amusement flashing in his eyes and lingering there. "I want to know what Anya Alstreim has to do with the geass."

**…to be continued…**

* * *

><p>First off: Apologies for the late update! I put writing and updating to the backburner in the last couple of months because of school and a ton of extracurricular activities. I just finished my finals, too, and while I didn't study 247, I couldn't squander my study breaks in _fan fiction_; it just makes me too guilty. To top it all off, my graduation will be in just two weeks, aaand I'm graduating with Latin honors. Hah. There's just so much going on right now, and it's all so very exciting. :)

On another note, this story is turning out to be much longer than I'd originally planned for it to be (a _one-shot_). I actually have ideas for two more multi-chaptered JeremiahAnya stories, but I don't want to be distracted from writing this, so I just outlined them instead. (But I'm very excited for them!) Infrequent updates are kind of my thing, but rest assured that I have the full intention of finishing this story.

All right, I've said enough. I hope you liked the chapter, and please review! :)

**Hilaire****  
>04.04.12<strong>


	8. An Equivalent Exchange

For the purposes of this fic, the military training system explicated here is what Britannia is following.

* * *

><p><em>"There were no sparks,<br>__just the gasoline fire burning through the dark."  
><em>Monster by Dev

* * *

><p><strong>Lesson VIII<strong>

**An Equivalent Exchange**

_Gottwald Estate, five months ago._

An expression of confusion made its way to Anya's face, making her frown. "The geass?" she repeated, the word sounding cold and foreign from her lips. She placed down her camera on her lap, fixing the master of the house with a careful stare. "What's that?"

Jeremiah heaved a sigh, as if he had difficulty finding the words to answer her. "To put it simply, the geass is an ability that gives its wielder the means to do the things that cannot be done under normal circumstances," he told her.

Anya lifted an eyebrow, feeling her frown deepen. Jeremiah had only succeeded in making things more confusing for her. "I don't think I understand."

The blue-haired military man shook his head, apparently realizing this as well. "You were asking me about what happened almost a year ago, during Suzaku Kururugi's public execution," he said instead. "You remember that I ordered his release, even when he was found guilty of killing Prince Clovis."

Anya nodded, still uncertain as to what Jeremiah was driving at. "I remember," she said. "A local channel broadcasted it in real time in Britannia." She narrowed her eyes at the memory. "Zero claimed to have killed Prince Clovis, and insinuated a conspiracy between you and the terrorists."

Jeremiah nodded. "The Orange Fiasco, as it is now known," he said. "Suzaku Kururugi was released upon my orders, and I went against the other members of the military in order to ensure that he and Zero would get away unharmed." A dark smirk tugged at his lips. "I was later put on trial for what I did, to which I pleaded not guilty."

Anya almost scoffed. "A silly move," she remarked, remembering what had happened soon after Jeremiah was captured for letting the terrorists go. The man actually had the audacity to claim innocence even when the whole world sat witness to what he had done against the Britannian Empire. "Everyone saw what you did."

"Quite the contradiction, wasn't it?" Jeremiah offered, a cynical smirk tugging on his lips. "Betraying the Empire so openly, then claiming innocence shortly after."

The Knight of Six gave a slight tilt of her head, seeing the contradiction but unwilling to let the words come from her own lips. "You're confusing me," she told him instead.

Jeremiah heaved a quiet sigh, as if in silent acceptance of her stubbornness. "Think about it, Miss Alstreim. If I were really a conspirator with the terrorists, why should I do something to affirm it in front of the entire world?" he asked. "Why would someone whom I was supposedly working with divulge such important information as my relationship to them?"

The man intertwined his fingers, looking at her darkly. "There are traitors even in the military, but even the terrorists would know how important it is to keep a Margrave as their ally – "

"Unless of course you're not one of theirs to begin with," Anya cut off, the faintest of frowns twisting her pretty features. She hated to admit it, but Jeremiah was making sense, whether he was telling the truth or not. It was not unlikely that Zero had only said that to discredit the ex-Margrave.

"That's right," Jeremiah affirmed. "I was never a conspirator of the Black Knights, or Zero, or any other terrorist faction for that matter."

Anya lifted her chin, giving him a defiant stare. "So then why did you do it?" she asked. "Why did you do as Zero told you to, and let Suzaku Kururugi go?"

Jeremiah's answer was easy. "That's because I was under the control of the geass."

**x ~ x ~ x**

"The geass is a special ability – _the power of kings_, as those who know of its existence often regard it as," Jeremiah explicated, leaning back against his seat as he did. "One might call it magic, or perhaps a kind of enchantment: something that gives its wielder the ability to do something beyond the scope of an ordinary human being."

Anya frowned at the man before her, inwardly wondering if they were truly having this conversation. "…magic?" she repeated tentatively. This was getting more and more ridiculous by the second.

The ex-Margrave nodded. "This particular ability manifests itself differently in each individual – a reflection, you might say, of that particular person's heart, or innermost desires," he said. "Each form of geass has a distinct characteristic – something that distinguishes it from its own kind, granting a unique power to its user."

Anya narrowed her eyes, unsure what to make sure of what she was hearing. The earnestness in Jeremiah's face was unwavering, and if the young woman was a little more honest with herself, she would admit that it was starting to make her feel very uneasy. This wasn't the explanation that she had been expecting to hear. No, not at all.

"One of its forms that I've encountered so far is the geass of absolute obedience," he continued, either not noticing her incredulity or simply shrugging it off altogether. "This particular ability allows its user to give out any order to anyone he wishes to, upon direct eye contact. As its name implies, the one who is given the command won't be able to do anything else but go along with it."

A soft, deep sigh escaped his lips, as if saying the words distressed him. "The geass of absolute obedience bends anyone's will and forces an individual to go along with the wishes of its user – an ability far more potent than any other power there is."

Anya hesitated. "…are you saying that that's what happened to you?" she asked, her voice coming out softer than she had intended.

"That's right," Jeremiah said. "Zero is a geass user himself – the wielder of the geass of absolute obedience. Using the geass, he ordered me to release Suzaku Kururugi to him and the other terrorists, knowing that I wouldn't be able to do otherwise." A cynical smile tugged at the corner of his lips. "Of course you know how this particular story ended."

Anya met his gaze, clenching her fists on her lap as she tried to keep her disbelief restrained. No, not just yet. Jeremiah had just started, and she needed to hear more about the geass – whatever it was, and no matter how absurd.

_My memories, _she thought, feeling a haunting desperation in her chest as she struggled to keep her calm. "And suppose that's true," she blurted out, before she could even think twice about it. She looked at Jeremiah, disregarding his smirk at her obvious skepticism. "What does that have to do with me and my missing memories?"

Jeremiah tilted his chin. "You must understand: Zero is not the only geass wielder out there, Lady Alstreim."

Anya was silent as she let the words sink in. "You mean to say that the existing… _geass_ – " she held her breath " – there are many of them out there?"

"That's correct," the military man agreed, seeming to appreciate the fact that she was quick to catch on.

Anya narrowed her eyes, feeling the onslaught of a terrible headache. Seated opposite her, Jeremiah was unspeaking, as if he was waiting for her to figure things out for herself. "You're saying that there is a geass that tampered with my memories," she said, the words sounding ridiculous even to her ears.

"If I say yes, will you believe me?" Jeremiah asked, his grim expression unchanging.

Anya stared at him, unsure how to respond to that. To say that she was confused would not even begin to cover what she was feeling at that moment. This – this wasn't something that she expected to hear. Magic was something she refused to believe in – especially in the age of technology and sophisticated warfare machinery like Knightmares.

She lowered her gaze to her camera. "How do you obtain a geass, anyway?" she asked instead, fiddling with the small device as she tried to sort out her thoughts. The last thing she wanted was to start hyperventilating without Gino around, and definitely not in front of this man. She would sooner die than let Jeremiah Gottwald see her terrified.

"There's a contract, of course," he said. "There is a contractor who grants someone a geass. In turn, the recipient of the geass must grant the wish of the said contractor."

"How cliché," she scoffed. "Just like selling one's soul to the devil. An equivalent exchange."

Jeremiah stared at her critically. "I understand that you might not believe it, but even you should see that it's not impossible – not when it also happened to me." He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, as if he was talking to a child, and the feat was turning out to be more taxing than he had anticipated. "It would be so easy for someone with a geass to tamper with your memories and alter them as they saw fit."

Anya turned back to him harshly, the sudden movement making the man pause. "_Why_?" she demanded, her voice sounding strangled. She looked at him sharply, feeling herself involuntarily tremble with the emotions she couldn't quite name. "If what you say is true – why did they have to do that? Why did they have to alter my memories?"

She didn't expect that Jeremiah would have an answer to that. "I suspect you witnessed the death of the late Empress Marianne."

Anya felt her shoulders fall, feeling strangely subdued by the words. "…Empress Marianne?" she murmured. "But – "

"It's the most logical explanation for your missing memories, Miss Alstreim," Jeremiah interjected. "You were an apprentice to the Empress when you were six – the time that she died, and the earliest time you can distinguish inconsistencies in your own memories. It's very likely that you were a witness to her death, and that the person behind her assassination – a geass wielder, as it appears – found out about you and chose to silence you by taking away your memories."

The young woman was silent for a long time, her crimson eyes fixated on Jeremiah in both disbelief and panic. On her lap, clutching her camera like her life depended on it, her hands trembled, a frightening coldness descending upon her consciousness. "That's…" She turned away, unwilling to meet his gaze for fear of exposing herself too much to this stranger. "That's ridiculous."

Jeremiah started. "Lady Alstreim – "

She shook her head, refusing to accept the words. "And what about my parents?" she asked, switching on her camera to distract herself. "Even if I witnessed the death of the Empress, was it necessary to take me away from my own parents?"

Jeremiah narrowed his eyes. "That's something I haven't quite figured out yet." He paused, a contemplative expression on his face. "However, if my theory is correct, then this would explain why you were sent to the military at such a young age, as well as your rapid ascension as the Knight of Six."

Anya clenched her jaw, the implication of the words like a slap to her face. She felt herself stiffen, gripping her camera so tight that her knuckles were turning white. "Are you suggesting that I only became a Knight of Six because of what happened?" she asked, the underlying anger in her voice almost surprising even herself.

She watched Jeremiah stop, as if he just realized how his words must have sounded to her. "I didn't – "

Against her better judgment, the young woman pushed her chair backwards and rose from her seat, too preoccupied by the rapid pounding of her heart to hear the loud crash that it made when it hit the ground. "It refuse to hear any more of this nonsense." Without waiting for his response, she turned away and started for the mansion.

She needed to get out of there – fast. Everything that Jeremiah was saying was too preposterous to believe, too unreal to even be considered. She knew she never should have even given him the time of the day – this traitor who readily betrayed all of Britannia in front of the entire world.

"_If my theory is correct, however, then this would explain why you were sent to the military at such a young age, as well as your rapid ascension as the Knight of Six."_

The young lady felt her mind reel, unable to keep the words from echoing in her ears. Jeremiah had never mentioned about the person behind the geass, but Anya could easily imagine that whoever it was must have something to do with the Emperor, if not the man himself. The Knight of Six had stayed in the court long enough to know about the rumors that it was His Majesty that had the late Empress assassinated.

Anya might serve the Empire, but she was not foolish enough to believe in the goodness of Britannia. The world super power was cruel, and it did not hesitate to crush anyone, Britannian or not, which it saw to be a hindrance in achieving what it wanted. Its monarch, Emperor Charles zi Britannia himself, was most certainly not above using his Knights and people if he thought it was necessary.

Anya bit her lip, feeling her headache return. Geass. Jeremiah made it sound like she had lost everything simply because she was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Worse, he made it seem like her position as the Knight of Six was not of her own merit, but because it was a payment for the family and the childhood that she had lost.

_An equivalent exchange. _

"Lady Alstreim," Jeremiah called out, easily catching up with her. The man fell into step behind her, his big strides effortlessly matching her brisk walking. "I apologize if you were upset by what I said, but it wasn't my intention. I only want to help."

At this Anya abruptly halted, twirling on her heel to face Jeremiah. "And how might you do that, exactly?" she spat, knowing that her pride and emotions had gotten the better of her, but not caring altogether. She was confused and lost and unwell and she was _fifteen _– she wasn't even supposed to deal with things like this. "How do you intend to help me, Sir Jeremiah Gottwald?"

Jeremiah blinked, his expression indicating that he knew she was only asking the question in contempt. But instead of matching her temper, he only sighed, giving her a look at seemed surprisingly sympathetic. "With another geass," he said softly. "A geass that can nullify the effects of the previous geass cast upon you."

Anya couldn't help the mocking smirk that fell on her lips. "You are a fool." Without giving him a chance to respond, the young woman once again started for the mansion, her mind overtaken by the thoughts of her best friend. She needed to go back to the base and see Gino. The young man would know what to do to make it feel better, to make it feel like she wasn't alone –

A strong hand reached out and grabbed the young woman by the shoulders, the rough tug making her stop. "Lady Alstreim – "

Anya struggled against his grip, trying to shrug off his hold. "Let go," she snapped, all too aware of the tingling sensation that Jeremiah's warmth was leaving on her skin. She glared up at him, her dark crimsons meeting a pair of cold, orange eyes –

"_Do you like your cake, Anya?" a middle aged-woman asked, smiling at the pink-haired little girl seated at the head of the table. _

_The girl looked up from the multi-layered cake in front of her, flashing a bright smile at the woman. "I like it very much, Mama!" she said, before turning back to the delicious treat in front of her. Around them, small kids around her age started clapping, all completely fascinated by the cake's height and elaborate design. _

Anya gasped, feeling her body slack at the memories that flashed right before her very eyes. She stared at Jeremiah, making out but barely understanding the confusion in his gaze. He seemed concerned, his grip tightening around her shoulders. "Lady Alstreim…?"

"_And who might you be, little one?" Empress Marianne asked, smiling kindly at the child before her._

_The six-year-old Anya Alstreim dipped into a graceful curtsy, her pink dress swishing elaborately around her. "I am Lady Anya of the House of Alstreim, your Highness." She smiled shyly at the Empress. "I'm honored to be serving the Empress Marianne."_

Anya swallowed, Jeremiah's face coming into focus. "W-What is this…?" she stuttered, staring wide-eyed at the man before her. Amidst her confusion, she lowered her gaze to look at his hands around her, wondering at the torrent of memories that his simple touched had prompted. "…w-who… w-who are you – ?" she whispered, instinctively raising both hands to her head as a splitting headache followed her question.

"Lady Alstreim!" she heard Jeremiah called out, his voice sounding like a distant echo as she felt her legs give away.

The last thing she remembered was the man catching hold of her before she closed her eyes, letting the mixture of darkness and distant memories take over her consciousness.

**x ~ x ~ x**

_Geass Directorate, five months ago._

The plump general adjusted his monocles as he glanced down to the documents in his hand. "The fifteen-year-old Anya Alstreim is the incumbent Knight of Six. She was appointed to this position after finishing her military training as the top of her class. A natural genius in the battlefield, as her peers call her," he said, flipping through the next pages of his report. "At the moment, she and Gino Weinberg, the Knight of Three, are under the direct command of the Emperor to inspect Area 11 – "

"How did she get into the Britannian military?" V.V. cut off, his expression of boredom seeming to make the man before him shudder in apprehension.

Bartley flipped back to the first few pages hurriedly. "The report says that the late Empress Marianne supposedly recommended her for the military," he said. "There are no records of this recommendation, but the Emperor sent her off to the military when she was seven, immediately after the death of the Empress."

V.V. threw a sharp look at the man before him, his expression darkening at the mention of that terrible name. He had expected the Knight to have some connection to the late Empress, but that didn't make him dislike it any less. "Did she serve that woman?"

The general nodded. "Yes. It would seem that Miss Alstreim was an apprentice for proper etiquette to the Empress before the tragedy happened."

V.V. almost scoffed. Tragedy_. _What a ridiculous word. "What about her family? Did they say anything about her being sent off to the military?" he asked. It was highly unlikely that a noble family would go against the wishes of the Emperor himself, but it was also very uncommon for a lady of such rank to be ordered to enter the Britannian military at such an age –

"They're dead."

V.V. lifted an eyebrow. "Dead?" Now wasn't that convenient.

"Her parents passed away even before she entered the court as an apprentice," Bartley said. "At first I thought she was related to the house of Alstreim, since she bore close resemblance to them. However, reports tell me that Miss Alstreim has been living only with her guardian since she was younger, and that the lord and lady of the house of Alstreim are childless."

V.V. remained silent as he thought things over, wondering if he was overthinking things just a bit. Then again, this was the strange power of the geass that he was dealing with, and the childlike leader of the Directorate knew better than to accept things without asking questions. He hadn't triumphed over his damning childhood as prince and acquired immortality without learning that things were almost never as they appeared.

V.V. was cautious, if not distrustful altogether. He had seen for himself how foolish man could be, and he had seen enough to realize that the allure of power was always greater than the esteem that one could receive for one's unfaltering loyalty.

"A natural warfare genius," V.V. remarked, his bored tone making the words sound like an afterthought. "How good is Miss Alstreim, exactly?"

The question was meant to be a rhetoric, but this was lost to General Bartley, who apparently had an answer to it. "With the permission of the Emperor, Miss Alstreim went through the various levels of military training much faster than any of the other recruits," he said.

V.V. darted his gaze to met Bartley's, his dead expression not betraying his interest in this particular information. Both he and the general knew that the system of the Britannian military had never been as strict as it was under the Emperor Charles, who had a firsthand experience of how one could easily lose – or in his case, _gain_ – power because of the military and its capacity to initiate a rebellion.

Even without being told, V.V. knew that Charles intended to be an Emperor for a very long time. In order to do this, the Emperor had to strengthen the Britannian military without giving it too much power, striking a crucial balance between those two extremes. The mere system of accepting candidates to enter the military training grounds was made even more elaborate and stringent, left in the hands of the most trusted few. The training was rigorous and exacting, each level following a specific set of standards that the Emperor himself had set as soon as he had taken over Britannia and its colonies.

The Britannian military was a seat of power by itself, the ultimate training ground for the Empire's perfect killing machines. That Charles could overstep the rigid rules that he himself had established for this particular Knight was, in a word, _odd_.

V.V. felt the faintest of irritation in his chest. "Are you saying Charles broke his own rules for Miss Alstreim?"

Bartley blinked, a terrified expression dawning on his face. "Ehrm, I wouldn't say that," he started tentatively, knowing that uttering words against the Emperor was like wishing death upon himself. He nervously glanced over the papers he was holding. "Miss Alstreim still went through all levels compulsory to everyone else, although for a shorter period. For example, recruits are usually required to train in barracks E for one year, but Miss Alstreim only stayed there for nine months. During other times, the duration was reduced to half, and even a third."

"And Charles approved of all these?"

Bartley nodded. "Yes. Rumors and speculations ran rampant when Miss Alstreim was heralded as the Knight of Six, but members of the military know her as one of the few who easily earned the Emperor's esteem because of her brilliance in the battlefield." The general gave an uncertain smile, as if trying to make light of the discussion. "Emperor Charles even once remarked that Miss Alstreim reminded him of the late Empress."

V.V. narrowed his eyes. "Oh?"

Bartley wiped his forehead with his handkerchief, seeming to grow more anxious by the second. "W-Well, Miss Alstreim is very skillful in maneuvering the knightmare frames, and it's not rare for those who knew the late Empress to compare them." He paused, seeming to hesitate. "Miss Alstreim's style of fighting is quite similar to the late Empress Marianne's."

V.V. propped up his chin in his hand, giving a bored stare at Bartley as he thought this through. "A reminder of that woman, huh," he said, feeling the familiar hatred for that harlot of an Empress. Even in death, Marianne refused to leave him alone. The mere memory of her and how Charles looked at her made V.V. sick to his stomach, remembering why he had killed her off in the first place.

He almost frowned, inwardly frustrated by his slipping faith on keeping a promise between brothers. Could Charles have betrayed him in favor of Marianne?

_But how?_

Without another word, the leader of the Directorate stood up, the sudden action surprising the general he had been talking to. "Call Charles immediately," he said, the evenness of his tone not betraying the scheme that he was craftily preparing in his head.

"Tell him I need to speak to him about Zero."

**…to be continued…**

* * *

><p>I feel so uninspired to continue this story. This chapter was a struggle to write, even when I know exactly where it's going. I'm also a little disheartened by the lack of feedback, aside from the fact that another fandom is keeping me busy.<p>

In any case, I'll do my utmost to keep updating. I still love Jeremiah x Anya, and I really want to tell my take on their little romance.

Tell me what you think about the chapter, maybe?

**Hilaire****  
>08.19.12<strong>


	9. Mirrors and Schemes

This was supposed to be a long update to compensate for the wait, but it got too long so I had to split it into two chapters. Which is strange, because this chapter and the next weren't even in my original story draft…

* * *

><p><strong>Lesson IX<strong>

**Mirrors and Schemes**

_Gottwald Estate, five months ago._

Anya had just finished changing into her uniform when she heard knocks on the door. "Come in," she called out, not bothering to lift her eyes from her reflection in the mirror. Ever since her fantastic display of helplessness in front of Jeremiah Gottwald two days ago, the only person who still visited her regularly was the Eleven lady servant.

Anya never asked where the master of the estate was, but she wasn't stupid enough to believe that Jeremiah suddenly got busy over many other things. She spent most of the last two days in the room as the doctor had required her to, but she knew that while the ex-Margrave never came to see her again, the man never left the estate either.

She still wasn't sure how she felt about that. It was probably childish, but the fact that Jeremiah still lingered around close enough to attend to her irritated her to some extent. It made her feel like a child that needed the caring of a grown-up, and it was unfortunate that the only grown-up that happened to be around was him – a total stranger that was even the enemy of the Empire that she served.

She was only too glad that the man had at least enough sense not to approach her again. After what had happened, she still didn't know how she could look at him without being reminded that he had saved her again. Perhaps it wasn't 'save' in the truest sense of the word, but still: Her stupid condition had rendered her mostly useless again, and he had been the one to witness it – for the second time in a row.

"Are you all set, Lady Alstreim?"

Anya continued fiddling with the ribbon in her hair, shaking her head no. "Give me a moment," she said, choosing not to ask for the help that the servant obviously wanted to give her. Tying her hair was her business and not anyone else's.

The young woman gave a slight frown at her reflection. Her stay in this mansion had done nothing but make her feel weak and useless and reliant on others – all things that she was sure she wasn't. She was Anya Alstreim, and the Knight of Six: She didn't need the help of anyone to go about her life. Not the help of the Eleven servant, and most definitely not of Jeremiah Gottwald.

"_But I can help you," _ she remembered Jeremiah telling her earnestly, like he was truly doing it because he cared – as if they were not complete strangers whose first meeting involved an attempt to end each other's lives. _ "With another geass. One that can nullify the effects of the previous geass cast upon you."_

Anya gave the ribbon a slight tug, trying to wrap her mind around what had happened two days before. She wasn't sure if she was right, but the memories had been elicited by Jeremiah's touch, like somehow the man had a key to whatever was holding those memories sealed shut.

_The geass,_ she thought, even when she was unwilling to acknowledge the nonsense that the man had told her before. The geass was too preposterous, sounding so much like those silly make-believe fairytales that she never read despite the orders of her Literature tutor.

Still, she would be lying if she denied that she was not considering it now. It was true that she had been skeptic and she did not regret her vehement denunciation of the strange power when she first heard of it, but thinking about it _now _was making her a little more unsure of what she believed about the matter.

The mere idea of the geass was ridiculous, but then again, so were many other things that she had witnessed and endured before. Being forgotten by her own family was just as preposterous as it was tragic, and so was having a memory that didn't coincide with her written diary. Or maybe how her memory was really erratic and unreliable, and that she had been persistently taking pictures in the last seven years – a small gesture she had always disguised as nothing as a bored hobby, but truly the only thing assuring her that she wasn't living an illusion.

Anya rose from her seat and glanced back to where the Eleven was waiting for her. "Let's go."

The next few moments were silent as Anya followed the servant to where the Mordred was supposed to have been kept in the last several days. "Who brought the Mordred here?" she asked, remembering quite clearly that her first battle with Jeremiah occurred somewhere that was _not _ in this estate. Without a pilot, a massive Knightmare frame such as her own would have required a large aircraft to be transported.

"The Mordred arrived here with you, Lady Alstreim," the Eleven answered. "You arrived here boarding an aircraft with Lord Jeremiah."

Anya narrowed her eyes. "And no one asked a question?" she muttered. She knew that Jeremiah was an ex-Margrave, but transporting her _and _ the Mordred so inconspicuously was impressive, if not suspicious. Even he shouldn't be able to move so easily in an area as closely guarded as Area 11, regardless of the fact that the Empire had already listed him off as deceased.

The servant shook her head. "I don't think so, my Lady. It was like any other day except for your presence in the estate, and – " at this the Eleven smiled back at Anya " – well, Lord Jeremiah seemed truly concerned about your condition."

Anya almost scoffed, not oblivious to the teasing in the servant's voice. "He should be. He tried to kill me," she responded coldly, and had the satisfaction of seeing the Eleven stop short upon this. The Knight of Six had had enough of everyone's portrayal of Jeremiah as the kindest person man they'd ever met, even when she and world outside his estate knew him as nothing but a traitor.

It wasn't that Anya believed the stories that the Britannian news channels always told about him. After all, the young woman had always been a skeptic when it came to believing her fellow citizens. Still, hearing all these things – seeing a Jeremiah Gottwald that was almost a complete contradiction of what she'd always known him as, except perhaps for his strictness and warfare genius – was not one of the easiest things to deal with. It felt like being told that one plus one was not two, but something else – and her mind was refusing to accept it as the truth.

The two of them stopped in front of an enormous structure where the Mordred was, with the young woman quickly walking to the Knightmare as soon as it was within reach. Anya knew fully well that it would take more than what Jeremiah had done to put even dent on her frame, but it was still a relief to see the Mordred completely unscathed.

_It's mine, _ she thought, running her fingers over the smooth surface of the frame. For a very long time, Anya had nothing she could call her own – not her memories, which were nothing but a twisted fabrication of whoever gods there were; and not even her consciousness, which always and again felt like it was being stolen by someone else whenever they saw most convenient. But the Mordred – real and tangible and _genuine –_ it was hers and no one else's. The Emperor himself had the Knightmare of every Knight of the Round tailored for them, so that each was unique to its pilot and the pilot's skill in the battlefield. The Mordred was Anya, and in a way, Anya was the Mordred – tough and fierce and unyielding to no one but herself.

"_Like a mirror of us," Gino Weinberg told her, giving an appreciative look at both the Tristan and the Mordred. "That's what makes our Knightmares different from all the other ones out there."_

Anya swallowed, wondering how her best friend had been in the last several days that they hadn't seen each other. The young man had probably been worrying himself sick over her disappearance, spending his time either blaming himself, or worse, pestering the Empire to help him search Area 11 for his best friend.

The young woman stopped, a thoughtful frown overtaking her features upon that thought. Gino Weinberg might act like an idiot most times, but it wasn't unlikely that he found a way to speak to the Emperor himself and told His Majesty about her disappearance. The young man had always been overprotective of her, and she could already imagine how distraught he must have been when he realized she was no longer tailing behind him back to the military.

"I have to go back," she murmured tensely. The last thing she wanted was for her disappearance to be communicated to the Emperor himself, much less for His Majesty and the rest of the Knights to know of the condition she had been enduring even before she entered the military. Gino was the only person who knew about her memories, and although the young man had sworn to keep it a secret, Anya was certain that her best friend would risk breaking that promise and ruining their friendship just to bring her back alive.

"I need to go back to the military base," she repeated, the mere thought of her best friend's worried face making her all the more restless. She took a few steps back so that she had a full view of her Knightmare, stopping only when she hit the person she hadn't realized was standing behind her.

"Lady Alstreim?"

**x ~ x ~ x**

"…a few alterations to our plans?"

The violet-eyed V.V. gave a humorless smile as he treaded the crimson carpet. It was a beautiful Friday morning, and already the leader of the Geass Directorate was in a meeting with the Emperor of the Empire of Britannia. "That's correct. Polishing the edges, if you may – just to make sure that we capture C.C., and that the execution of the Eleven terrorists will proceed without any delay."

Seated on the throne for arguably the most powerful person in the world, Emperor Charles zi Britannia only lifted an eyebrow. "And what might these changes be?" he asked, his tone with just the right combination of interest and detachment. He and Directorate leader had already set up the stage for the Eleven's execution several months ago – a few hours after they stole Zero's memories and sent him back as the carefree, powerless Lelouch Lamperouge back to Ashford Academy.

V.V. tilted his head to one side, a thoughtful expression gracing his face. "Let's just say I wish to speed things up a little."

Charles narrowed his eyes. "…what do you mean?" he asked.

V.V. inhaled, an amused expression falling on his childish face. "The Geass Directorate is halfway through the development of the geass canceller. Jeremiah Gottwald, whom we intend to grant this geass to, is showing very rapid recovery as well. While his body is not yet fully healed to receive the full extent of the power, he's well enough to do a little more work than what we require of him." The leader of the Directorate felt a wry smile creep over his lips. "I plan on sending him to Ashford Academy to watch over Lelouch himself."

Charles was silent for a moment, as if contemplating this piece of information. "Is that truly necessary?" he asked, the slight crease of his forehead indicating that the simplistic of V.V's plans did not completely persuade him. "Isn't Jeremiah already able to use the canceller? We cannot risk his unstable geass nullifying the one I cast on Lelouch."

V.V. nodded. "Yes, but only just a little, and not to its full potential. Like I said, we're still only halfway through our study." He rolled his eyes as if in thought. "For example, he cannot completely cancel the geass you cast on Lelouch just yet, because the power is incomplete. Forcing himself to do so poses an immense hazard to his health, including both his brain and heart. Jeremiah knows this, and I don't think he's foolish enough to do anything so rash when he hasn't exacted his revenge on Zero himself." He smirked. "The best he can do as he is now is to make Lelouch see disconnected series of memories – and even that is severely limited by the fact that the geass canceller requires contact."

At this Charles frowned. "I thought the geass canceller covers a specific radius."

V.V. shrugged. "Only once it's completed. Otherwise, contact between Jeremiah and the person he wishes to use it on is absolutely necessary," he said. "On a scale of one to one hundred, Jeremiah is in possession of barely ten percent of the power of the geass – certainly no threat to both Lelouch and to the geass you cast on him."

The expression on Charles' face was just as bland as the boredom on V.V.'s. "If that's the case, may I ask why you want Jeremiah Gottwald to be in Ashford Academy?"

V.V. openly smiled at this, although it still didn't reach his eyes. It was a cold, cruel smile – one that showed cunning and knowledge far beyond his age. "I suspect that one of my men is a traitor to me," he said, staring at his brother's blank expression. "I'm sending Jeremiah in case my suspicion is correct."

Charles didn't seem particularly amused by this, although his face remained neutral. "That's a tad too much faith to put on one man, isn't it, brother? Why don't we just dispose of the person you suspect to be a traitor?"

V.V. gave a quiet laugh. The idea was something that he had expected his brother to suggest. "Very tempting, Charles, but I'd like to make use of my pawns for as long as I can. Jeremiah will watch over Lelouch and act on my behalf, regardless whether there is indeed a traitor or not. Besides, I also intend to use this chance to see the extent of an underdeveloped geass."

Charles looked at his older brother sternly. "As long as Jeremiah doesn't go anywhere too close to Lelouch, I don't see any problem with it."

V.V. smirked. "I've already arranged for that. Jeremiah will be teaching in Ashford, but never the class where Lelouch belongs to. I don't want him to nullify your geass on Lelouch by mistake either."

The Emperor of Britannia gave a slow nod. "Have you decided when you will send him to the Academy?"

"In two weeks," V.V. said smoothly. "I spent the last couple of days making the preparations for it, after the latest geass development that I told you about prior. I didn't want to lose the opportunity to send out the geass canceller outside the Directorate."

Charles nodded. "Will there be anything else?"

V.V. smiled. "Actually, there is." Without waiting for his brother's response, the older sibling lifted his chin and looked at Charles in the eye. "I'd like you to send the Knight of Three and the Knight of Six to Ashford Academy as well."

**…to be continued…**

* * *

><p>The next chapter is almost done, which means you can expect an update before the year ends. Please review! :)<p>

**Hilaire****  
>12.03.12<strong>


	10. Destinies Intertwined

Late update, but I hope you enjoy it regardless. :)

* * *

><p><strong>Lesson X<strong>

**Destinies Intertwined**

_Palace of the Emperor, five months ago._

There was a fleeting moment of silence, until at last Emperor Charles decided to break it. "What would you need the Knights of the Round for?" he asked, his voice sounding perfectly cold and detached despite the gravity of the matter at hand. The Knights of the Round were a group of people under the direct order of the Emperor himself, and that someone – even his Majesty's very own brother – was _ordering _ him to dispatch them, was simply unheard of.

V.V.'s expression remained neutral, well aware of this unspoken fact himself. "The public knows that Zero is dead. The only ones left to be captured are the Black Knights and their accomplices – including C.C." He paused. "In the event that C.C. tries to go anywhere near Lelouch, it is to our best interest to have members of the Britannian military nearby to capture her."

Charles narrowed his eyes. "The Knights of the Round know nothing about the geass."

V.V. lifted his chin. "Ah, fret not, Charles. It will not be necessary to tell them anything about the geass. The only thing they need to know is that C.C. needs to be captured, and that the likelihood of accomplishing this will be much greater if they enter Ashford Academy." He gave his brother a humorless smile. "I don't think anyone will complain about their late admission if it's a command from the Emperor himself, won't they?"

Without giving his brother a chance to respond, V.V. shrugged, signaling that this meeting was over. "It was just a suggestion, Charles. You may or may not send them to the school. But please make sure that we have enough men in Ashford Academy to capture C.C. once she appears." A grim smile makes its way to his lips. "The game of cat and mouse has grown boring over the years, and I hope we can end it as soon as we can."

Charles' reply was a curt nod, his face a mask devoid of any emotion. "I will think about it, brother."

**x ~ x ~ x**

_Gottwald Estate, five months ago._

Anya quickly stepped away from Jeremiah, as if burned. "I'm going home," she snapped, the words coming out sharper than she intended. She glared at the ex-margrave, all the while trying to slow down her suddenly erratic heart. Damn this man and his stupid connection to her memories. Things would have been so much easier if they had nothing to do with each other.

Jeremiah heaved a quiet sigh, as if unwilling to have another argument with her. All things considered, he was holding up pretty impressively, especially if what she had been told about his temper was true. "I understand, Lady Alstreim. I only came here to see you off." As though sensing her apprehension, the man offered her a polite, almost kind smile. "You don't have to worry about the time that you were gone. I contacted the base and – "

"You did _what_?" Anya asked before she could stop herself, her voice having a certain edge to it. The last thing she imagined Jeremiah doing was getting in touch with the military base himself – not after the Orange fiasco, and especially not when he was supposed to be dead. "What do you mean you contacted them?"

Jeremiah frowned, clearly not appreciating the outburst. "I told them I'm a retired Britannian noble, and a friend of the Alstreim from a long way back. I said you came here for a short visit, but you fell sick because of exhaustion and the weather," he said. "I said you're under my care, and that you'll be back as soon as you're feeling well."

Anya narrowed her eyes, trying to sort out her thoughts. "And they believed that?" she asked after a long pause, sounding a litle calmer this time. She didn't want to admit it, but Jeremiah's little story sounded pretty convincing, and what he had done certainly saved her from a lot of questions from the people in the base.

"I only spoke to one person, the young man who claimed to be your best friend," Jeremiah said with a frown, as if talking to that particular friend of Anya had been draining and a little unpleasant. "He was a little skeptic at first, so I invited him over to this estate. He seemed very busy, but he stopped by on the evening of your first day here to check up on you."

Anya frowned. The only person who would dare claim to be her best friend was Gino, and if Jeremiah was telling the truth, then… "He visited me…?" she repeated, wondering why the man didn't tell her all these important details when she first woke up. "Why didn't you tell me all of this sooner?"

Jeremiah gave her a strange look. "If I remember correct, the first thing we did when you woke up was argue," he said, in a tone that suggested it was _her _ fault and not his own. "In any case, your friend promised me that he'll keep your disappearance from the base a secret for as long as he could, and that I should tell you not to worry about anything but getting better." A slight frowned tugged at his lips. "I believe he knows about your memories?"

Anya looked away, cursing herself for letting Jeremiah figure out so much about her in such a short span of time. "He's my best friend," she said quietly. She had long told Gino of her strange condition and the random flashes of memories that had been stealing her consciousness ever since she was eight years old – if only because he was her best friend in the world.

"_I'm your best friend, Anya!" Gino insisted, even when the expression on his face indicated that he was aware how the Knight of Six didn't quite agree with that statement. "You have to tell me so I can help you!"_

"I'm glad to know that."

At this the Knight of the Rounds couldn't help but look back at the ex-margrave. "Glad?" she repeated, the puzzlement undisguised in her tone. Why would Jeremiah be glad about Gino knowing about her condition? _Is he stupid?_

"You have a friend to share your burden with, Lady Alstreim. That's quite rare," Jeremiah said, sounding so serious and sincere that Anya couldn't doubt that he meant the words he was speaking. Strange, but it almost seemed like the man was _lonely_.

Anya inhaled, stifling her curiosity and concern. She had more things to think about instead of wasting her time on Jeremiah. _Of all people. _ "You said Gino came here for a visit," she said instead, her overanalyzing mind getting the better of her. "Does that mean he saw you?" she asked, silently wondering if Jeremiah had some sort of death wish. It was bad enough that he spared her life after seeing him alive and well, but that he invited another Knight of the Round to this very estate was even worse. It wasn't as if there was anything stopping her from telling the Emperor about him being alive.

As if reading her thoughts, Jeremiah shook his head. "No, of course not. I am dead to the world, Lady Alstreim. That I'm alive is a fact known only by a very few, and it should be kept that way, at least for now. I had another Britannian play the part of the retired noble that I claimed to be, and he was the one who received your friend."

Anya scoffed. "You have this all figured out, huh," she said, before lifting her gaze to the Mordred. Talking to Jeremiah was making her feel like she had been unconscious for much longer than she was told.

The deep sigh that Jeremiah heaved following this remark was enough to tell Anya how frustrated he was with her. "I only did what I thought was best, Lady Alstreim," he said, the words sounding strangled from his lips. The struggle to keep his temper from flaring couldn't have been more apparent in his tone.

Not that Anya cared. It wasn't as if she asked him to do any of this for her. "You understand you didn't have to, don't you?" she asked, just the same. The last thing she would want was for Jeremiah to be left thinking that she owes him for all that he had done for her so far.

Jeremiah looked at her warily, as if trying to figure out where this line of questioning was headed. "I do."

"So why did you still do it?"

The ex-margrave blinked in surprise, his sharp features twisting into a deep frown when he realized what the question was. "Why are you asking me this?" he muttered, a flicker of anger in his eyes as he stared at her. "Isn't it enough that I helped you without asking for anything in return?"

Anya smirked. "Only after attempting to kill me in the battlefield," she pointed out, lifting her chin defiantly upon seeing the uncertainty dawn on Jeremiah's face. The man clearly didn't expect that she would bring _that _ up. "Was it the mention of my missing memories that stopped you – because you thought it was somehow related to the geass?"

Jeremiah started, looking absolutely upset by what she was doing. "I – it wasn't – " He huffed, clenching his jaw as he stared at her evenly. "It was a reason, among many others."

Anya arched an eyebrow. "And what would those other reasons be?"

Jeremiah fixed her with a somber look, as though assessing how intent she was on having her question answered. "The territory that you crossed is a restricted area that only people who are somehow connected to the geass would be able to find. At first I thought your intrusion was simply a mistake, but when you mentioned your missing memories… " He furrowed his eyebrows, his expression turning just a little grimmer. "I had no other choice but believe that a geass was the reason behind it, Lady Alstreim."

A smirk tugged the corners of Anya's lips. "If I believe that, then it will mean I've been connected to the geass ever since I was eight, maybe seven years old." She looked away to the beautiful landscape that surrounded the estate, wondering how everything could be so peaceful when her own heart and mind were in turmoil. "That means my life has never been mine all along."

Jeremiah had no response to this, and the young woman felt a cynical smile form her lips. She turned back to the ex-margrave, feeling her heart constrict as she made out the mixture of resolve and despair in his eyes. She didn't know why, or how, but in some detached part of her mind she finally understood why the man had saved her. Jeremiah didn't kill her because she was connected to the geass, but even more than that: He didn't kill her because of what the geass had done to her.

"You…" she started, finally realizing the unsettling flicker of loneliness in his eyes. "You were looking for someone who could understand," she said, the words sounding strange even to her ears. "Weren't you?"

Jeremiah narrowed his eyes, as if the words struck. "I…" he hesitated. "I suppose I was… in a way," he muttered, like he was suddenly discomfited by how casually she had said the words that he couldn't.

Anya kept her stare at him, letting the meaning of the words sink in as she marveled at how easily the ex-margrave had admitted to them. It was almost enviable, how he seemed confident enough of himself to bother with what she would think about him saving her for that reason.

"The geass canceller…" she found herself saying, taking one tentative step closer to him. "You have it, don't you?"

A look of confusion made its way to Jeremiah's face, more for the actual question than anything else. "I'm… I'm not supposed to. At least not yet – not until the experiment is finished and – " He stopped. "You… was that the reason that you fell unconscious? When I touched you – ?"

Anya gave a somber nod. "Can you hold me again?" she asked quietly, feeling the coldness creep over her body as soon as the words left her lips. "If I can see those memories again, then I – " she paused, taking a deep breath before continuing " – I think I can believe the existence of the geass."

Jeremiah looked like he was torn between being pleased and being concerned by this development. "I can't assure you that you will see the memories again but…" He glanced down to his hands, as if what she was telling him was a contradiction to all the things that he knew about the geass canceller. "I suppose there's no harm in giving it a try."

Anya held her breath as the man reached out to touch her, the warmth of his hand against her cheek sending a tingling sensation down her spine. The young woman instinctively closed her eyes, raising a hand to put over his own upon the onslaught of the memories that she had been desperately looking for, for a very long time.

_The middle-aged woman smiled at Anya through the mirror as she brushed the child's hair. "Try to impress the Empress, all right, Anya?" she said, her crimson eyes holding the gaze of the girl in her lap. "Make sure to show them what you can do!"_

"_I will, Mama! I will be the best lady-in-waiting that the Empress ever had!" Anya cheered, the smile on her lips so carefree and true as she embraced her mother. "I will make you and Papa very proud of me!"_

Anya tightened her grip around Jeremiah's hand, keeping her eyes tightly shut despite the sudden twinge in her chest.

"_Anya Alstreim?" the same woman was saying, although this time she looked a little older and just a bit wearier, like a person who had lost the will to live after losing something that was precious to her. "I don't… I don't think I've heard of the name before."_

_Anya started, the haunting desperation in her chest contradicting the brilliant lights and cheerful music that made the evening seem so festive. "Would you happen to have a daughter?" she asked, clenching the sides of the beautiful gown that matched the color of her eyes._

_The woman's reply was a sad smile, and Anya wondered why it felt as if her own heart was breaking, even when the baroness was supposed to be nothing but a stranger bearing the same name of Alstreim. "She passed away when she was six years old," the Britannian noble said, unwilling tears escaping her eyes and slipping down her cheeks as she looked at Anya. "I-I'm sorry, it's just that I… I loved my daughter very much…"_

Anya opened her eyes, surprising even herself when she became fully aware of the tears that had fallen down her cheeks. She looked up at Jeremiah, silently reprimanding herself for not being able to keep her tears from falling when she was still in front of him, and gritted her teeth in an attempt to regain control of herself. "I've seen enough," she breathed out, only too thankful that she didn't stutter as she stepped away from the ex-margrave.

She lowered her head so that she was looking at the grassy field underneath her feet, unwilling to lift her head lest he saw how ridiculously tearful she was at that moment. "Leave," she murmured, the tone of her voice making it sound more like an order than a request. "Please leave."

Jeremiah was quiet, and even without looking Anya was sure that his concern for her was genuine. "I understand," he simply said, giving a courteous bow before stepping away to let her gather herself.

As soon as the fallen margrave was out of her sight, the young woman finally let go of the tears that she had been holding back. She gripped the side of the Mordred's legs, her small frame shaking violently as she cried.

A lie. Her whole life had been a lie. All the things she had believed in for the last eight years of her life had been nothing but make-believe, the biggest falsehood that the world would have witnessed, had they known.

All her life she thought there was something wrong – there was something that didn't quite fit, and there was something that was missing.

Who would have known that she had always been right?

Anya let out a strangled moan and let herself fall to her knees, feeling as though her heart was about to burst from her chest. _Anya Alstreim, Knight of Six. _ It was funny how the title of the highest honor seemed empty and meaningless, now that she was alone and all the world was crumbling beneath her feet.

Alone with nothing but the Mordred as her witness, Anya Alstreim cried like she had never cried in her life before. She cried for the home that had been taken away from her, and for the memories that she could not even trust. She cried for the family to whom she was dead, and for the childhood she could never get back.

She cried for herself, and for those eight long years that would never be returned to her. She cried for all the time she had wasted isolating herself from everyone, because somehow she knew she did not belong with them, and it would only hurt her if she even tried.

Not too far away, standing behind a beautiful cherry blossom tree, the ex-margrave stared at the Knight of Six and clenched his trembling fists at his sides.

It was at that moment that Jeremiah Gottwald promised himself it would be the last time that Anya Alstreim would cry.

**…to be continued…**

* * *

><p><strong>Hilaire<strong>**  
>03.23.13<strong>


	11. Blurring the Boundaries

I've been looking forward to writing this chapter ever since I started the story. I hope you have fun reading as much as I had fun writing it. :)

* * *

><p><strong>Lesson XI<strong>

**Blurring the Boundaries**

_Ashford Academy, present time._

Jeremiah stared at the door to Anya's room, shifting restlessly as he pondered on whether to proceed with what he had gone here for. He glanced at the empty hallway of the girls' dormitory as he exhaled deeply, feeling only too grateful that he was there all alone.

It was barely eleven o'clock in the morning, and almost all the students were still in the middle of their classes. The ex-margrave had chosen this particular time exactly for this reason, knowing that visiting Anya's room would be less dangerous at this time. Common sense, of course, told him that dropping by anywhere near the dormitory during the day was like a voluntary leap into hell, but yesterday's conversation with the young Knight had left him too anxious to listen to reason. Jeremiah had been through too many things to know this was something which could _not _ wait.

For probably the hundredth time within that hour, the military man heaved a sigh, his gaze falling on the bouquet of white roses in his hands. He had woken up very early this morning just to make sure he had enough time to handpick the flowers and arrange them in a bouquet. It was going to be a gift – a little peace offering which he could only hope would at least lessen the anger of a particular young lady.

The man fidgeted once more upon the thought, feeling silly despite himself. A lifetime ago, he never would have imagined himself doing any of this. It felt so foolish, so… _ridiculous_. He was Jeremiah Gottwald, and he was twenty-nine years old. The last thing he should be doing was visiting a fifteen-year-old young lady with a bouquet of roses in his hands, especially when he was supposed to be her _teacher_.

Jeremiah glanced down at the bouquet, growing more and more restless by the second. He wasn't even supposed to stay in front of Anya's door for this long. His plan had been to simply drop off the bouquet in front of her doorstep, walk away, and hope that the Knight would start coming to class again. He wasn't really expecting for any of this to work, but this still felt better than doing nothing and just letting her remain angry with him. He knew that his sudden departure for the Directorate had upset her, and a heartfelt apology with some flowers and a short note was the least that he could do to –

"What are you doing?"

Jeremiah started, swearing his heart must have literally skipped a beat when he heard the voice. Swallowing discreetly, he looked over to his right, tensing up when his gaze met dark crimsons. Anya Alstreim stood poised and bored next to him, the slight arch of her eyebrow indicating that she was not amused to see him standing outside her room. "W-What are you doing here?" he stuttered, suddenly unsure what to do with the roses in his hands.

"I should ask you that," she retorted, just as her gaze fell on what he was holding. She seemed slightly puzzled, but wisely chose not to make a comment, and instead walked past him to unlock her door. "You're the one standing in front of my room."

Jeremiah was quiet as he watched her push the door open, unsure what to say. He hadn't intended for Anya to see him now, and he truly wasn't certain how to answer the question. That, and the fact that the young woman seemed to be not in one of her best moods wasn't helping him either. "Well I'm – "

"Get inside," she interrupted, her back still turned to him.

The ex-margrave blinked. "…_what_?"

The young lady turned on her heel to look at him, her dead expression unchanging. "Get inside," she repeated coldly. "The Physics teacher dismissed us early, and most of my classmates will be returning here before taking their lunch." She paused. "You'll meet them down the hallway if you go now, and I don't like answering questions."

There was a momentary silence as Jeremiah considered this, wondering if he had just successfully made things worse for himself. This lasted until he heard the soft giggles of a group of girls not too far off, and he had no other choice but to reluctantly enter Anya's room. The last thing he wanted was for some of his students to see him visiting the Knight of Six in her dormitory.

He was barely halfway into the room when heard the girls greet Anya, who was still outside. "Gino is coming with us to lunch!" one of them said excitedly, prompting him to pause and listen. He knew that Anya and the Knight of Three were very close friends. "Will you be joining us as well, Anya?"

The young lady's answer was terse and cold. "I'm not feeling well," she simply said, earning awkward giggles from her classmates.

Jeremiah frowned. He wasn't oblivious to the fact that Anya did not get along well with her classmates, even when she had been staying in the Academy for several months now. The young woman was always too cold, too detached from everyone around her, and it was easy to imagine that she never put the effort into being friends with anyone. He was aware that she saw establishing connection as a waste of time – something that she couldn't be bothered to deal with.

"_What for? I'll just forget them eventually," _she had said to him once, when he suggested that she make friends with the girls from her class. Ever since the beginning of her stay in the school, he had seen how Anya preferred solitude to people's company. It was almost surprising that she was friends with the cheerful and outgoing Gino Weinberg, who was the complete opposite of herself.

Jeremiah turned his head in the direction of the door when he heard Anya enter. The young woman locked the door behind her before looking over to where he was. A vague expression of irritation adorned her pretty face, her careful eyes taking in his awkward posture as she approached. "Sit down," she told him, the tone of her voice only accentuating the fact that he was intruding on her quiet afternoon.

Instead of doing as told, Jeremiah remained unmoving where he stood, involuntarily tightening his grip around the bouquet in his hands. It didn't take long before he started to feel ridiculous – for possibly the nth time within the last hour. When did he start being so uneasy and tongue-tied in front of the Knight of Six?

Anya tilted her head to one side, seeming unamused by his silence. "Is there anything you want to tell me, Mr. Gottwald?" she asked, the faintest hint of contempt in her voice as if intended to snap him out of his trance.

And it worked. Jeremiah clenched his jaw upon the formal greeting, silently wondering how Anya Alstreim could manipulate him so easily. "I came to apologize," he blurted out, before he could give himself a chance to hesitate.

Anya gave him a mechanical blink, unimpressed by his honesty. Instead of answering, she turned away and walked over to the couch opposite him, where she took a seat. "Apologize for what?" she asked, picking up a random pillow and hugging it to her chest as she looked up at him blankly. "Did you do something you should apologize to your student for?"

Jeremiah drew in a breath, trying to keep his temper even. He should have expected that Anya would not make things easy for him. He was suddenly thankful that he had decided to apologize immediately after their conversation yesterday. Putting this off would have only made things worse. "I know you're upset that I left for the Directorate without a word," he said.

He watched the young lady hug the pillow tighter, not a single word escaping her lips in response to him. Heaving a frustrated sigh, he pinched the bridge of his nose and continued. "I was told that they made a breakthrough with the geass," he said tentatively, feeling more and more certain that he was doing this wrong. "They wanted me to go there so I could see for myself and – "

"I know," Anya cut off. "You already told me that yesterday."

Jeremiah clenched his jaw, tensing up. "Then why are you still angry?" he blurted out, biting his tongue as soon as the words escaped his lips. He knew he was giving himself too much credit by thinking that he would be able to restrain his temper even while facing Anya.

There was a long moment of silence, a small eternity that left Jeremiah inwardly squirming where he stood. The Knight of Six was proving to be very uncooperative today, and the fact that he couldn't complain about it was driving him on the edge. He knew he was at fault, but standing there stupidly and having Anya look at him with such tedium in her eyes was far from something that he would have liked to endure. There was something very unsettling about it, that feeling of being so helpless under the gaze of a young lady who was fourteen years his junior.

"I don't like roses."

Jeremiah blinked, suddenly snapped out of his anxious musings. He raised his eyes to Anya and frowned. "…I'm sorry?"

Anya was staring at the bouquet in his hands as she answered. "Those roses," she said, lifting her gaze so that their eyes met. "Those are for me, aren't they?"

The ex-margrave nodded, only then realizing that he was still holding the flowers. "I-If… if you don't like them, I can get something else that you like," he told her quickly, mentally scolding himself for screwing up one thing after another. When did Jeremiah Gottwald start being _this _ clumsy? And why didn't he know Anya's favorite flowers to begin with?

As if reading his thoughts, Anya shrugged. "I don't really like flowers."

_Right. Because she has none, _ he thought, suddenly feeling concerned. He had picked the roses as a peace offering to the young lady, but there was no point to it if she didn't like them. "I didn't know – " He hesitated, unsure what to make of Anya's blank stare at the bouquet. "Is there – is there anything you want?" he asked.

Anya stared up at him impassively, her answer prompt and cold this time. "Tell me why you broke Mr. Gramercy's jaw."

The shift in Jeremiah's temper was so sudden that it was a blur even to him. One moment he knew he was truly sorry and apologetic to Anya, but all of it seemed to disappear after hearing her make a mention of the fool who had the gall to call him a traitor. It was something he simply couldn't brush aside, whether it was from Anya or not. He felt his eyes dilate, his features swiftly twisted by anger. "Because he deserved it," he snapped sharply, knowing that even the young lady couldn't possibly change his mind about what he had done. "He was talking about something he didn't even understand."

Anya leaned back against the couch, looking very relaxed despite his dangerous tone. "I heard he called you a traitor to the Empire – "

"He said that I was serving Zero, when it was that man who cost me everything I dedicated my entire life to," he interrupted, feeling his heartbeat pick up upon the onslaught of emotions. He knew that his temper was worsening in front of Anya, but he couldn't do anything about it, especially when he remembered the words that the teacher had accused him of. "A dog of the Black Knights."

The young woman cracked a small smirk, not even making an attempt to look sympathetic. "Such a pathetic man," she told him cruelly, a certain spark of a contempt flashing in her eyes. "Letting your emotions manipulate you will be the death of you."

Jeremiah felt his chest rise and fall as he tried to calm himself. "What are you trying to tell me?" he asked, the words coming out in a low, throaty rasp. "That I should have just ignored the slight and let him get away with it?" He felt his fists tremble with anger, and he clenched them, knowing that he was so very, _very _ close to losing it. Just a little more, and he wouldn't even care that he was talking to Anya and not his stupid co-faculty.

"That's not it at all."

The man swallowed, still struggling against himself. He knew there was something wrong with how furious he was at that moment – but it wasn't as if he could do anything about it. "Then what is it?" he bit out through clenched teeth.

Anya lifted her chin to meet his eyes, dark crimsons against furious orange. "You promised me you'll do all that you can to keep yourself from losing your temper and hurting anyone in this school."

Jeremiah blinked, the words leaving him suddenly subdued. He felt his shoulders fall, all the tension as if leaving him upon the young lady's remark. "T-that…" He stared at Anya, only then remembering that he had told her that around two months ago, when she spoke to him about how terrified everyone was of him and his dangerous temper.

It was their first conversation that Anya herself had initiated, and he had been so strangely pleased by the girl's concern that he made her that promise. It was silly, of course, but back then Jeremiah had felt too happy to even think about it. The usually uncaring Knight of Six had been the first person outside the Gottwald Estate and the Geass Directorate to show him kindness – something that meant the world to the man whom everyone else would rather have dead.

He always thought that Anya probably regretted doing that. As the Knight of Six and a person under the direct command of the Emperor, the last thing that she would want to do was to associate herself with a man who supposedly betrayed Britannia. What she had done gave him an opportunity to speak to her more afterwards, too, and despite everything, Jeremiah could not restrain himself well enough to keep away from the girl.

"You still remember that," he told her, unable to disguise the awe in his voice. He knew that it probably didn't mean anything to Anya, but it was still a reminder that she had been listening and paying attention to him, and that his attempts at talking to her several months ago was not as useless as he had imagined it all was.

Anya gave him a slight frown. "You remember it, don't you?" she asked, in a tone that told him that _she _ was the one with the missing memories, not him.

Jeremiah nodded, if not a bit eagerly. "I do. But it's been months since we spoke about that and – "

"It's hard to forget when you're constantly bothering me," Anya interrupted, looking mildly irritated as she put down the pillow beside her.

The ex-margrave was quiet for a long moment, fumbling with the words in his head. So this time it was his violent outburst that upset Anya because it was a breach of what he had promised her several months ago. "I… I didn't think the promise would mean so much to you," he told her. "It's just that whenever we talk I feel like…" he inwardly squirmed, trying to sort out his thoughts before blurting out something stupid, "like – "

"Like you're wasting my time?" Anya offered, making Jeremiah flinch. That was exactly what he wanted to say, and more. _Like you're only indulging me out of pity, because you know that no one else will give me the time of the day, _he wanted to add, but stopped himself in time.

"Something like that," he agreed, unwilling to share his thoughts with her. The last thing he wanted was to sound like he was begging for the young lady's attention.

Anya made no comment on this, and Jeremiah sighed, deciding to drop the topic and instead go back to his original purpose. "That aside," he said, "does that mean I'm forgiven for... for suddenly leaving without telling you?" he asked, inwardly cringing at how silly the question sounded. It felt foolish, but he needed to make sure. Even after spending so much time with her, he could still never tell what was going on in that pretty little head of the Knight of Six. She was simply too hard to read, her thoughts and emotions always heavily guarded.

Anya lifted an eyebrow at him, as if that was the stupidest question she had ever heard. "You said sorry, didn't you?" she asked. "Yesterday and today, if I remember right."

Jeremiah blinked twice in succession, trying to wrap his mind around the young woman's answer. "And… and for breaking the promise – " Should he apologize for what he had done? The mere thought of it was enough to make Jeremiah frown. He might be sorry for breaking his promise to Anya, but he was not sorry for what he had done to the other teacher. His pride was not going to let him blurt out an apology he didn't mean. "You're not going to ask me to apologize for what I did to Gramercy, are you?"

Anya simply gave him a stare, crimson eyes lazily scrutinizing all of him. "That's none of my concern," she muttered.

Jeremiah inhaled, relief washing over him. "Thank you," he said. At least they could agree on that.

The young woman brushed this off with a shrug. "If that's all you have to say, then this conversation is over," she said. Without so much as a pause, Anya stood up and gestured to the door. "My classmates have probably left the building by this time. You're free to leave."

Jeremiah furrowed his eyebrows at this blatant dismissal. Their conversation had barely started, but Anya was already sending him away. "I'm not sorry for what I did to the other teacher, but I'm sorry I broke my promise," he told her, the words tumbling out of his lips faster than he could have thought possible. "You… you accept my apology, don't you?" He hated how desperate he sounded, but he wasn't sure if he could still get a opportunity like this if he left now. Before he stepped out of this room, he needed to be certain that his relationship with the Knight of Six would return to what it was prior to his trip to the Directorate.

Anya looked at him for a long time, her expression as blank as always. "Yes."

Jeremiah swallowed, the mixture of confusion and apprehension only making his heart beat even faster. "Then may I hold you?" he asked, before he could give himself the chance to hesitate.

There was a long pause, the atmosphere in the room growing heavy and thick with each passing second. "_What_?" Anya finally asked, giving him a look that made it seem as though he was the biggest fool she had ever met.

The ex-margrave tensed up, feeling a little uncertain as he looked at her. He was an idiot. He actually asked if he could hold her – one of the Knights of the Round, and a Knight of the Emperor of Britannia himself. Anya Alstreim – the same young lady who was now his student, and who was barely half his age.

Jeremiah flinched at the thought and looked away, wondering what sort of forbidden boundary he was crossing with what he was doing. _This is wrong, _ he thought, beginning to feel a little flustered with the slight trembling that was beginning to rack his body. _I have to stop. _ Eyes out of focus, he gave a slight shake of his head and tried to take a deep breath. "I-It's all right. I'm just a little – " He inhaled again, his emotions as if crashing down on him and rendering him completely weak and useless. "Forget I even said that."

Jeremiah clenched and unclenched his fist, trying to be in control of his emotions instead of the other way around, even while knowing that he had already lost. The fact that he was having this episode now – the fact that he was so close to having another vicious outburst because he was upset and frustrated meant that his emotions had gotten the better of him again.

He gritted his teeth. Upset and frustrated? With what? With how Anya was so close but he was still unable to touch her? With how his life was in shambles and how he was desperate enough to ask reassurance from the Knight of Six?_ Stop thinking stupid things, _ he scolded himself, in some detached part of his mind wondering if he was even making sense. It was most likely that he didn't, and at this he could only close his eyes and wished he wasn't having this attack right in front of Anya. He had done enough stupid things in front of the girl to last himself a lifetime. _Damn it._

"Are you all right?"

Jeremiah didn't even look up from his slouch next to the counter when he heard the question. "I'm fine," he said, his voice sounding strangled and overwrought even to his ears. He tried rubbing his palms together, feeling as if they were being pricked by a thousand needles as he felt the coldness travel through his body. "You should join your classmates for lunch. I'm… I'm okay. I just need to – " he took another deep breath " – I just need a while to gather myself." He clenched his shaky fists again, this time with so much force that he could feel his nails digging into his skin.

The ex-margrave heard no response to this, and he drew in another deep breath, wishing Anya would simply leave. He couldn't bear having her see him like this. "I said I'm… I'm f-fine. Just go away," he managed to breathe out, feeling as if his heart was about to burst out of his chest. Talking to her as calmly as this was a little too much effort for him in his current state.

"You don't look well."

Jeremiah glanced over to where the voice came from, a little startled when he realized that Anya had inched closer. The young woman was now standing only a few paces away from him, staring at him with the faintest hint of curiosity in her eyes. "This… this isn't any of your concern," he muttered, looking away to his trembling hands and cursing his body for betraying him.

Anya arched an eyebrow at this remark, seeming unimpressed. "As long as you're inside my room, yes, it is."

Jeremiah ran a hand over his face agitatedly, biting his lip to keep himself from saying things he would regret. "Then I should take my leave," he murmured through clenched teeth. Turning on his heel, he picked up the bouquet of roses resting on top of the marble counter and started for the door, unwilling to linger any longer lest his actions betray him too much. "I don't wish to trouble you."

Three weeks. It had been more than three weeks since he last spoke with the Knight of Six – since they last had a conversation that they didn't have to conclude by walking away. _How could I have allowed that to happen? _ he thought, inwardly cursing himself. His relationship with Anya had never been easy from the very beginning, but he could swear that they were starting to be more comfortable with each other prior to his departure for the Directorate. Three weeks ago, he was free to approach and talk to the young knight as he pleased, without worrying that she would ignore or avoid him. He had been so sure that Anya was, at the very least, starting to warm up to him.

But now he was back to square one, and he wasn't sure how to accept the fact just yet. The realization was like a punch to the gut, and it made his mind reel, plaguing him with the memories of how it had been when everyone thought he betrayed Britannia and wanted nothing whatsoever to do with him.

"Where are you going?"

Jeremiah swallowed tensely, glancing down to his trembling hands and muttering an oath under his breath. "I have… I have finished my last lecture for today. I will retire to my room now," he said, careful not to look at Anya and letting her see how much he was struggling against himself. He was conscious enough of how the experiment he had undergone in the Directorate left him powerless against his own temperament and emotions. He was terrible at self-control, and he was very certain that he would end up hurting someone if he stayed outside any longer. Locking himself up in his room would be the best thing to do now, especially after what he had done to his co-faculty a few days ago.

"Your room is on the other side of the Academy," Anya pointed out.

He gripped the doorknob with more force than necessary, trying to disguise his trembling hands. The last he could do to save his pride at this point was to keep himself together. "It's fine. I can – "

"Jeremiah."

The ex-margrave blinked, surprised to hear his name from the lips of the young lady. Against his better judgment, he let go of the knob and looked over his shoulder to where Anya was. "What is it…?" It had been a while since he last heard her call him by his name.

Anya lifted her chin, stern crimsons brimming with knowledge beyond her years meeting desperate orange. "Come," she said, her voice coming out barely above a whisper as she held out her hand to him.

"Hold me."

**x ~ x ~ x **

The fifteen-year-old Anya Alstreim was silent as she watched the fallen margrave close the distance between them with quick, stubborn strides. In only a matter of seconds, the man was already on his knees in front of her, his trembling form nearly engulfing all of her. He wrapped a powerful arm around her waist, while he let the other rest on the small of her back.

"You're trembling," she remarked, noting how he was still taller than her even when he was already on his knees. It made her feel small – an unpleasant feeling that Anya temporarily pushed to the back of her mind. "Are you sure you're all right?"

Jeremiah nodded, his head buried in the crook of her neck. "I'll feel better soon enough." He took a long, deep breath, inhaling her scent as if his life depended on it. "I'll let you go in a minute."

Anya barely flinched when she felt Jeremiah tighten his embrace around her following his statement, unmindful of the contradiction in the man's actions and words. She knew better than to think that he would let her go anytime soon. For some reason, the ex-margrave could hold her for a very long time and never get tired of it.

She should know. She had let him hold her for far too many times in the last several months now. It had always been like this since she understood his condition, and of the fact that somehow, she was the only person who could tame his violent temper. And it wasn't because of the geass, or any other strange power there could be: The only reason was that Jeremiah was willing to listen to her, and considered her to be the one person he didn't want to displease with his temperament.

She glanced down to him, wondering what he could be thinking. It was stupid, of course, that she allowed him to be this close in the first place. But Anya couldn't regret it – at least, not entirely. There was something about the desperation and anxiety in his eyes earlier that told her she needed to be there – again. Jeremiah was clearly having one of his violent episodes, and she could only imagine what he would have done if she had left him by himself.

_What an idiot,_ she thought, feeling his breathing gradually slow down to match her own. She would never tell him this, but it was actually quite impressive how he managed to keep himself from losing his temper again, if only for a short moment. She knew how difficult it was for him, especially after what the Directorate had done to him and his mind. The once proud Jeremiah Gottwald was now a slave to his erratic emotions – a disaster waiting to happen.

The young woman looked over to the view outside her window, staring at the enormous white clouds that littered the bright blue sky. Gino would probably flip if he found out that the rumors about his best fried and his teacher had a ring of truth to them. And while the blond loved his best friend too much to do anything to harm her, Anya wasn't too sure how far the Knight of Three would go to get back at Jeremiah for dragging her into this.

The Knight of Six glanced down to the man in her arms when she felt him shift, barely making out the softly spoken words from his lips. "Did you say something?" she asked.

Jeremiah seemed to hesitate, and he buried his face in her neck further. "I said I missed you," he whispered to her ears, his guttural voice making the words sound like a strangled prayer.

Anya blinked perfunctorily, an expression of surprise overtaking her features and lingering there as she stared him. The man seemed content where he was, clearly not expecting a response, but even so the Knight of Six felt her heart race, his quiet assertion rendering her silent and confused – more by her feelings than by the ex-margrave himself.

The young woman frowned, clenching her fists at her sides lest her actions betrayed her. _Don't be stupid, _ she thought, instinctively pressing her lips together for fear of blurting out something she knew she shouldn't.

Jeremiah Gottwald didn't have to know that Anya Alstreim missed him, too.

**…to be continued…**

* * *

><p>Feedback would be appreciated! :)<p>

**Hilaire | ****05.19.13**


End file.
